


Get On Your Knees Then (And Eat Me)

by JadedFalling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Clothing Kink, Crossdressing Kink, Danny Mahealani Cameo, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Endearments, Everyone as Big Bad Wolves, Feminization, Fisting, Forced Orgasm, Gentle Sex, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, Intimidation, Kissing, Knotting, Lace, Lap Sex, Like a Gangbang but one at a time, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Violence, Multi, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Porn, Praise Kink, Restraints, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Scenting, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf) Has a Big Dick, Size Queen Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski as Little Red Riding Hood, Threats of Violence, Train Bang, Vernon Boyd Has a Big Dick, unexpected ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-08-08 07:36:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedFalling/pseuds/JadedFalling
Summary: Stiles is Little Red Riding Hood and he's about to meet a whole pack of Big Bad Wolves (but it's okay, because he just might like it)Hopefully the ending is as unexpected as I hope. Relationships are tagged in order of appearance. Sterek Leaning EndingTags will be Updated with chapter Postings and Explanations for updated Tags, as well as a full list of Kinks included in the new chapter, will be posted in the NOTES





	1. The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I got this idea and it was just too good to pass up. The title is from [this hitrecorderly video](https://youtu.be/t0DUVW-zzmY?t=58) that I still remember from 5 years ago. I really fucking love that poem no joke. I think about it sometimes on certain sunny 2pms.
> 
> Anyway, if you can hang on until the end of this fic, I think y'all'll really like the contents. It's just porn really. But clever porn. Kinda. Kinky as shit in a couple ways. Like a whole universe of it. I literally had to think about how I wish visual porn actually looked or what I wished it contained. I kinda want to make a whole little universe of this in like a series but who the fuck knows what I'll be doing a couple months from now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Alright so onto The Kinks!  
>  **Kinks and/or warnings for this chapter:** crossdressing, corsets, sensuality (in relation to the previous two), pursuit, betrayal, and being trapped  
>  Let me know if there's something you think I should add to this list.

Stiles nervously smoothed his skirt down, which was an unnecessary exercise of futility considering how he was trying to smooth down delicate, ruby lace covering too many layers of soft white silk that was bunched and gathered around his hips for maximum ruffle and fullness. The lace itself fell into the topmost ruffles and moved with the whole skirt. It swished gently around his thighs with every slight move and even in the softest of breezes. There was so much ruffle, Stiles could bend over and touch the floor with straight legs and the very bottom of his ass barely peeked out from under the short layers of fabric. Which was great because Stiles kind of wanted to wear this skirt every day of his life from this point on. 

The silk felt wonderful; he had been eagerly anticipating the day when he would be allowed to wear his new outfit. And here he was, the brush of the thin material felt even through the sheer fabric of his snow-white stockings that stretched all the way so the lace bands were just barely under the hem of his skirting-the-line-of-decency skirt. (Seriously, he was only about three inches max away from a stage with a pole and a roomful of business suits or datemate-date-night-outfit territory.) And though he trusted the thick bands of elastic lace around the tops to hold his stockings up, he still secured them to a matching garter belt he had on under the thick waistband of the skirt just in case. All of it sat pretty low on his narrow hips but he wasn't worried. So far, no matter how he moved, everything stayed in place.  


He twisted his hips side to side just to feel how the skirt caressed his skin, freshly shaved and baby soft. It was a wispy, sensuous touch unlike any he had ever felt before in his twenty-two years of life. (Stiles was actually wondering how he had gone this long without having tried on a skirt. Why had none of the girls and some guys and neither-either-ors in his life let him on this secret yet?)  


A deep breath caught in his lungs only to be let out in a shuddery sigh as the snugness of the corset he wore grounded him back in the moment. He didn’t think he’d like the corset when it was first suggested for this Special Outfit, but let himself be talked into it and measured and now here he was. It was custom made to his _exact_ measurements, masculine in shape but intricate and dainty in appearance. It was made of the finest materials along with the skirt as both were made to come together - complimentary.

Stiles had no clue how corsets were made, but he had always thought they would be constricting, uncomfortable to wear. On the contrary, he was quite comfortable. The ribbing wasn’t as stiff as he thought it would be; he could almost take a full, deep breath before feeling too constricted to continue inhaling. He thought it would pinch along his back as it laced up along his spine but the only difference he felt was how much straighter his posture was. It made him feel confident and beautiful. It wasn’t itchy either, not with the satiny softness of the lining. And even though it dipped up his sternum between his modest pectorals _and_ down between the crests of his hips in gentle curves, it didn’t dig in or jab him at all.

He figured his comfort was due to the customization and considerate handling of the Lady who made it as she laced him up, guiding him through breaths and checking for pain through every inch of cinching. He had never worn anything even remotely like a corset before. The whole process had gone to his head, making him lightheaded with delight. The Lady deserved every pretty penny she charged.  


The corset really was a work of art, with carmine panels and sanguine vertical stripes separating them out evenly. The same pattern of delicate lace from his skirt – white in opposition – filled in two panels up his stomach around the (white) center panel of purely-decorative, thin ribbons of varying wine-dark shades woven in a complicated pattern down his middle - creating tiny diamonds and elegant twists - that ended in a small, layered bow at the dip that dropped between his hipbones and covered the band of his skirt. The lacing in the back was black because it would be hidden by the largest article of his new outfit.

Stiles swung a large, blood-bright cloak up and around with a twist to settle it across his shoulders, tying tight the thickly braided cotton rope in the front to hold it in place. The length of his cloak fell almost all the way down to his velvety cherry-stained, mary jane ballet flats. And his light, cream-colored peasant top was almost completely hidden by it. He had to adjust the large neckline to make sure it was comfortable across his collarbones and hadn’t come untucked from the top of his corset. It wasn’t a full shirt, cropped around his ribs and arms as it was spring and the days were warmer - if not completely removed from the bite of winter as it blew through the trees and nipped at your bones if you weren’t properly dressed.

And since Stiles was headed into the woods today, he’d need the added protection.

He carefully adjusted the sweet little armbands that started halfway up his forearm and laced down into many-looped bows on the backs of his hands and a gentle ruffle of sheer fabric that fell to his second knuckles. Then, with a deep breath, he picked up his basket, double-checked the latch keeping the top flaps secured together, and set out the door. He was so excited and nervous and ready!  


* * *

_ “Okay, Stiles, you’re headed to your Nonna’s and it’s a big day for you. You haven’t seen her in years. And you’re finally an adult! Old enough to make the journey alone. You’ve saved up for a nice, new outfit as a birthday gift to yourself to show off in. You’ve got a basket of gifts for her. Smile a little! Aren’t you excited?” _

_ Stiles rolled his eyes at Charles’ version of a pep-talk. Or was it a rundown of events? Somehow, his speech cadence always sounded like his old lacrosse coach’s and could contain just as bizarre sentences occasionally. _

_ “Nervous, more like,” Stiles mumbled, adjusting his basket. They were at the edge of the woods where the path he was supposed to walk down disappeared into forestry. _

_ “Eh, don’t be,” Charles said with a wave of his hand. He gave Stiles a once over and nodded. “No-one’s going to know your name, so you’ll probably get called ‘Little Red’ or something. Just roll with it. Remember what we're doing. It’s part of our deal, remember. Get into that mindset! Be Little Red!” _

_ It was Stiles’ turn to nod. _

_ “You’ll be fine.” _

Stiles pulled his hood up over his head as he walked down the hardpacked, wide, dirt path, glancing up at the sky which had become overcast. He thought it might rain, which could potentially suck a lot if he wasn’t as close to the house as he was hoping. His outfit might end up soggy and sad.

He adjusted his basket.

“Uhh... Excuse me?” A voice called out and Stiles’ heart jumped in his chest. He kept his steady pace, ignoring the man who had to be nearby.

“Uhm, Red? Red Hood?” The man persisted and Stiles could hear him stomping through the underbrush that grew thickly on both sides of the path.

“C’mon, Red, I know you can hear me,” he said, closer. Stiles rolled his eyes to himself before he glanced up and saw that approaching from in front and to the right was a man wearing a black and red, plaid flannel that was more than half open over a white undershirt. His dark-brown work pants were held up by sturdy suspenders over his shoulders and he had an axe – a real honest-to-god woodcutter's axe – tossed casually over one shoulder. His short brown hair was sticking up and appeared damp with sweat.

“Hello,” Stiles greeted politely, not slowing. He turned his attention back down the trail, but not before he caught sight of a friendly smile directed at him. The lumberjack guy had dimples. He was actually kind of adorable. Despite not being the conventionally typical definition of attractive, the guy was. His face was narrow, nose a little pointed, but his eyes were kind and warm in contrast. His skin was a natural olive tone and completely smooth.  


“Hi,” he said, crashing through the thickest bushes before his feet hit the path and he fell into step with Stiles. “I’m Danny. I work out here, cutting wood.”

Stiles ignored him. Which was hard because Stiles thought that he looked too familiar like maybe Stiles had seen him before, maybe even before he’d had to move when he was still in high school.

“Oh, don’t be like that. What’s your name?” Danny asked and he seemed sweet enough but…

“Red is fine,” he said.

“Okay, Red it is then.” Danny gave him another small smile and Stiles found himself returning it. “Sorry if I seem pushy. I just don’t see many people this way. It’s nice to see another person. ...Especially one as pretty as you.”

Stiles felt himself blush and ducked his head to hide behind his hood.

“What are you doing this deep in the woods?” Danny asked and Stiles gave him a small, genuine grin.

“I’m headed to my Nonna’s—”

A loud, growling that grew into a full-on howl cut him off and Danny’s face went ashen, expression falling into something horrified.

Stiles felt a stab of fear as the sound carried through the forest. It sounded like a wolf, but there shouldn’t be any wolves. Not in this area. Not between Beacon Hills and any of the surrounding towns. Besides, he’d never heard a wolf that sounded like that before.

In the distance, more howls echoed and Danny gulped audibly.

“We need to go,” he said and snatched Stiles’ hand, tugging him into a run, down the path, heading farther into the forest.

“No, wait, where are we going?” Stiles yelped, trying to shake Danny off but the man just tightened his grip. He wasn’t much older than Stiles but he was  clearly  stronger.

“I have a cabin nearby,” Danny said to him on a heavy exhale. Stiles stumbled and dropped his basket, tugging on Danny’s arm to stop for it.

“Leave it! We have to get to my cabin.”

They cut around a corner onto a different, smaller path and after a minute, Stiles could see a quaint little log cabin at the end of the path. It had to be a hundred yards away still. And those wolves had sounded close. He hoped they got to it in time.

Together, they nearly slammed against the sturdy door into the cabin, hearts pounding with adrenaline and fear. Danny kicked a bolt near the bottom loose and another near their heads clattered back and Stiles was being shoved in.

“Quick, inside!” Danny panted, and Stiles stumbled into the safety of the cabin—

Just before the door slammed shut behind him and, as he whirled around to see if Danny had made it inside safely, the bolts rasped back into place and were locked there with consecutive click-thumps.

Stiles’ heart jumped into his throat as he realized he was locked inside. A light clicked on behind him and he threw himself against the door in terror and began banging on it with his fists.

“Danny!” He yelled. “What are you doing?! Please! Let me out! Please! What are you doing!?!”

“Shhhh,” he heard behind him, cooing, “It’s okay, Little Red.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw pairs of glowing gold and electric blue eyes, fangs, fur. Beasts. Were-beasts.

Werewolves.

Oh, god, he was going to die.

He sobbed out a breath and beat harder on the door, curling against it.

“Why are you doing this!?” He screamed, no longer hearing Danny on the other side. “Why me? Please let me out! Let! me! out!”

There was heat at his back, a warm exhale across his nape, and he ducked his head, wishing desperately that his hood was still up, that it hadn’t fallen back in what he thought was a flee from the monsters at his back.

“No, no, no, no,” he cried. “Please… Don’t do this! Let me out!”

Fangs brushed the shell of his ear.

“Shhhhh…”

“I’m sorry,” Danny called out, voice cracking. “I had to.”

And then his pounding footfalls raced away from the cabin and Stiles was alone with the wolves.

_“And remember, if at any time you need it, call for help. I mean it. I can’t have you getting hurt. Don’t push yourself and convince yourself you can do more than you can. Okay? Say the words ‘help me’ exactly. Or actually any variation. Just make sure you say ‘help.’ Yell them if you have to. I'll know. I need you to come back from this, okay. Safety first.”_ Those were Charles' last words to him before he set off.

A hand with thick claws curled around him and landed on the laced bodice of his corset, reeling him back away from the door, the only way out. All around the room, lamps flicked on and Stiles was eased around to face the gathered beasts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! It's just a short little introduction. The next chapter is also pretty short as the stage is set, but the third chapter gets really interesting really fast.
> 
> I have most of this written. I'm literally just finishing the last chapter. I do the editing myself and I do it as I post so there will be delays between chapters.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [the tumbls!](http://jadedfalling.tumblr.com/)


	2. The Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles bargains with— no, he talks to— He gets to know— Actually, he's introduced— Well, not really. ....  
> He sees the wolves he's trapped in the cabin with.
> 
> _...and Stiles was eased around to face the gathered beasts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, I've only watched through the first two seasons of TW but I know how things progress ~~fall off the rails~~ after season three(-ish) and so far, I only care about the Original Wolf Pack™ (no really the more I hear about the bs that's pulled, the harder it is to even want to watch past s3).
> 
> Uh there's really no new warnings. Stiles kinda half facetiously (kinda not really totally seriously but also jokes!) believes the werewolves are going to eat him. He's uncomfortable(-ish) and there's definitely some touching that falls into the DubCon tag.

Stiles winced and ducked, turning his chin down into the spot where his collarbone flowed into his the ball of his shoulder, his back hunching and shoulders curling up and forward as he tried to hide. His eyes were squeezed shut and his bottom lip was firmly tucked under his top front teeth.

“C’mon, Little Red, don’t be like that,” the same voice from before crooned. The tips of sharp claws hooked just barely under his chin. Stiles sucked in a painfully sharp breath and flinched back.

Or he tried to. He couldn’t move back because there was still that arm curled around him, palm resting restrainingly over his lower back.

“You’re scaring him,” a softer voice stated, matter-of-fact, and another presence stepped up close near the shoulder where Stiles was hiding. “Don’t be afraid, Red.”

Hands - normal hands - gently eased the grip Stiles had on one edge of his cloak, away from where he was clutching it tightly and pulling it closed as much as he could. Those gentle, soft hands turned his hand palm-up and pulled it away from his body. Then a soft, lingering kiss was pressed to the center of his palm.

Stiles jerked his head up, eyes flying open and blinking up(-ish) at the man— Boy. Man? in front of his face. He had dark blue eyes and dark blonde curls, brown near his scalp. He flashed golden eyes at Stiles almost playfully with a barely-there smile. Stiles tried not to tremble as his heart skipped a beat.

That was definitely a man. He was shirtless and— (They all were - whatever the relative amount actually meant - but Stiles was trying not to look anywhere besides him) —a cherubic angel. His face was masculine with a strong jaw but boyish in the way that his lips, nose, and eyes were like a renaissance painting of an angel. And he was pressed in close, boxing Stiles in, leaving only one side of him exposed.

Which meant nothing considering the arm still wrapped around him, attached to… Stiles turned to look directly in front of himself, something he’d been actively trying not to do.

His heart fluttered and warmth flooded his belly. Oh.

This man was exactly the conventional expectation of attractive. He even had the douchebag taper haircut that was styled up and slightly forward. And his body was… Extremely close to Stiles. Too close to Stiles. Especially with the stupid fucking (read: completely terrifying) smirk on his face with the partial Kubrick stare for maximum pervert vibes.

Stiles tried to swallow around his dry throat. He was an absolutely unfair mixture of utterly fucking terrified and embarrassingly aroused. Which he was positive nearly every person in the room knew.

Because they were wolves. Fucking werewolves.

And Stiles had been _thrown_ to them.

Movement caught his attention hovering back behind Mr. Perv. Stiles turned to it, looking around Mr. Perv’s shoulder on the side where he still had the room to. He nearly groaned at what he saw.

There was a hulking man. Another beautiful, hulking man. And what the hell, were all werewolves this fucking good-looking?? The big guy was just as cut as the other two but wider and his muscles bulged when he flexed. While only wearing a pair of tight, practical, athletic-looking underwear, there was miles of dark skin on display as he smiled almost mockingly at Stiles, one perfect eyebrow quirked up. Stiles was intimidated by it all.  


This was it for him. Murdered by models. Ripped to shreds in a bloodbath of beauty.

Stiles almost forgot he was supposed to be afraid as the three gorgeous man watched him closely.

And then he saw a reason for true fear lurking in an armchair across the room in _the only_ semi-dark corner. (Because Angelface, Olympic Douchecanoe, and Big Guy just weren't enough already.)

He was wearing a pair of black, loose jeans that only seemed tight around his thick thighs and obvious bulge in his groin. . .area, which was really only obvious because of the way he was lounging almost comfortably back in his spot, hips tilted up. His legs had an insouciant spread to them and his feet rested, bare, on a rug covering the hardwood floor. Moving upward, there was a dusting of dark hair across his chest – which looked like it belonged on a Greek fucking God – and another faint line of it from his bellybutton down into the top of his pants.

Hnnnnnggggh.

But his face... He had one elbow propped on an arm of the chair, his other arm thrown down over the other side, hidden. His loosely curled hand rested in front of his mouth, the side of his index finger touching his lips, which were an expressionless line through what looked like a few days of grown-out stubble, a designer beard. And his blood-red, glowing gaze – fixated very steadily on Stiles – was heated beneath his intense eyebrows, almost angry. Probably most definitely angry. Maybe a little closer to pissed off. Which, by all means, should have killed Stiles' rapidly growing arousal. Cut it in half at least. Definitely shouldn’t have been ramping it up, that’s for sure.

“Interested in our Alpha, Little Red?” Mr. Perv (aka Olympic Douchecanoe Row Team) questioned with _more_ than a hint of teasing condescension. Stiles glared at him and he bared his fangs in a grin, reminding Stiles that, yep, he was not in a good situation.

Stiles leaned back in an effort to create distance between them. Mr. Perv grinned and suddenly let go of Stiles, letting him trip back against the solid door behind him before advancing. Stiles yelped and stiffened up, holding his breath as he quickly found too-long, too-sharp teeth too close to his neck.

“Please don’t kill me!” he blurted out and there was a pause before various forms of laughter burst from the men filling the little cabin.

“Red, we’re not gonna kill you,” Angel-face said like it was obvious, and his smile was devilish. Stiles gulped feeling a nervous twist in his gut. He shifted carefully from one foot to the other.

“So. . .You’re _not_ going to eat me?”

A tight squeeze down the center of his ass had Stiles jumping forward into Mr. Perv’s waiting arms. Arms belonging to the hand on his ass.

“Maybe just a little,” Mr. Perv challenged with a haughty brow raise.

Heat flooded Stiles and rose up under his skin, from the tips of his ears to his neck because _that_ was a terrible pun and he had secondhand-embarrassment from it and also, he knew exactly what Mr. Perv was implying and that was totally un-fucking-fair because his dick was super interested in that and everyone present absolutely knew it.

“Oh,” Stiles squeaked out.

The room as a whole seemed to decide to take that as an encouragement to proceed, because they descended on him like…

Well.

Like wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone is aware though, this story shouldn't be taken seriously. Not really. Like at all. It's porn. But not in the "what the fuck am I reading, if I wasn't horny and instead reading this with a sound mind none of this would be okay" way. It's screwy, but I wouldn't say it's screwed up. And just to be sure everyone knows what they're getting into I'm gonna continue putting info at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> Next chapter is long and we really get into things.


	3. The Wolf in Lamb's Wool (is still just as sweet to behold)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolves descend. But hold up, they're only allowed to go one at a time. A little bit of negotiating and Isaac takes the lead. But not before the Big Bad Alpha steps in. Stiles can't help the way his knees get weak.
> 
> _[...] because they descended on him like…  
>  Well.  
> Like wolves._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KINKS ARE LISTED AND BRIEFLY SUMMARIZED BELOW, COULD BE SEEN AS SPOILERY, PROCEED AT OWN RISK. **SKIP IF YOU AREN'T WORRIED ABOUT WHAT THE CHAPTER MIGHT CONTAIN** All casual updates for notes will henceforth be held at the end.
> 
>  **Major Kinks:** _Dubious Consent - Stiles isn't verbal about consenting but is an active participant in the proceedings while still mentally questioning things;_ Manhandling/Restraint - Stiles is held where the others want him to be, restraint is all bodily, he doesn't fight it; _Spitting - it's done for practicality, spit-as-lube, but Stiles is a little emotionally affected by it;_ Intimidation - by strength or by being werewolves, the behavior associated with such
> 
>  **Minor Kinks:** Kissing, _oral sex - blow job/fellatio & rimming,_ panties, _fingering - done a little roughly for prep,_ Humiliation Lite since no one actively does anything to intentionally humiliate or shame Stiles but there are times where he feels very much embarrassed by something, _under the skirt fucking,_ lap sex - reverse cowboy ;] , _innocence or the perception of it_

There were hands everywhere. Stiles was beginning to feel overwhelmingly like he was being mauled by an octopus with hands. (That was a disturbing image that had him cringing internally.) Or maybe just a small pack of werewolves. Which, was exactly what was happening of course.

Hands were holding his wrists up and out, leaving him open to the other sets touching and groping at him wherever they could reach (which was almost everywhere). And there were hot, damp mouths all over the exposed skin of his neck, shoulders, and even his arms. His own mouth was constantly occupied, being kissed greedily, aggressively, shallowly – being turned from one mouth to another to be nibbled and nipped. The best he could do was keep his lips parted and try to keep up each time a hand tipped his chin in another direction for a sucking kiss.

Soft noises kept catching in his throat as lips and teeth nipped at his vulnerable neck and scraped over his jaw, adam’s apple… One kiss was even applied to the sensitive inside of one elbow, which had him muffling a startled yelp into someone’s mouth and jerking his arm.

There was a quietly annoyed growl and fingers found the longer hair on the top of his head to jerk it back. Two mouths at once descended on his at the same time as nimble fingers picked at the knot of his cloak where it rested against the hollow between his collarbones. Another hot mouth found his pulse and sucked hard. Stiles whined high in his throat, giving up trying to keep up with the two sets of luscious lips vying for his. He didn’t realize his hips were twisting around restlessly until a hot palm was slipping up the back of his skirt and cupping one partially-bare asscheek, fingers giving it a tight, greedy squeeze.

A soft _whoompf_ of a noise caught Stiles attention for a split second and he wondered what it was only as long as it took for another hot hand to curl around the back of his exposed nape.

His cloak.

“Fuck,” a voice breathed into his ear, sounding just as wrecked and wanton as Stiles felt. It was deeper than Angelface’s and Mr. Perv’s, which meant it had to be…

All at once the kissing stopped. Hands gentled and were stroking over him almost soothingly with open palms and brushing fingertips. Everyone was breathing deeply through their noses, huffing out their mouths, or in Stiles’ case, panting.

It was the handsome hulk at his ear and Stiles blinked dazedly up at him.

“Who’s going first?” he asked the other two and, almost in perfect synchronization, the three swayed backward away from him but still keeping hands on him.

“I think. . .we should let Little Red decide,” Mr. Perv said with another douche-baggy smirk.

“Decide…?” Stiles asked in a mousey rasp.

“Who should fuck you first,” Mr. Perv purred in that way that cocky assholes had (and Stiles hated that his heart actually swooped a little because that attitude _worked_ for _this asshole in particular_ and god he was unfairly hot and _so_ douchey). Stiles felt heat race up his arms just under his skin, bloom brightly on his cheeks, and spill down into the bowl of hips. His ass clenched in anticipation and by the way the guys all took sharp, deep breaths, they could smell just how interested he was in that idea.

Stiles took a minute to evaluate what his life had come to. He had been in the woods, heard wolf howls (which had probably come from these guys signalling the wood cutter), run, was betrayed and locked into a small two room cabin (one clearly being a bathroom) with at least four werewolves – three of which really wanted to fuck him(...?) and one of which was definitely an alpha – who he had thought wanted to kill and eat him at first… And they were hotter than the sun. Hot like burning. Smoking like a forest fire. They didn’t seem like bad people (except for that part where they got some random human to lock him in here with them). Maybe if he said no, they’d send him on his way.

Or maybe they’d kill him. Who knew?

Stiles could take that chance. And maybe if he was released, he would find his way back to his basket, back to town. . .and he would realize just how stupid he’d been to pass up a chance to get fucked by three werewolves who were so attractive they should have modeling careers. Or be in movies as love interests and debonaire action guys, having other painfully attractive people throwing themselves at them every other day.

Not impatiently waiting for ~~(someone like)~~ Stiles to pick one of them to _go first_ in fucking _him._

But here they were. Here Stiles was. And even if death wasn’t the only other option, Stiles would be a fucking idiot to turn it down. (Sure the execution wasn’t that great but they were all staring at him now, touching him but not urging, not pressuring, just waiting, watching. Eagerly, like puppies. He could say, “no.” Did he want to say no, now that he was here?)

He licked his lips, watching three pairs of blown eyes follow the motion before settling on Handsome Hulk’s impressively soft mouth himself. Hands at his waist were suddenly snatching him back and away, crushing him to a tight chest.

“What the fuck, Isaac!?” Mr. Douchecanoe snarled. Handsome Hulk didn’t seem pleased either at Angelface— Isaac.

“I want him first,” Isaac said, nuzzling the side of Stiles’ head and breathing deeply, almost swaying gently with him. “You’ll just ruin him for everyone else, Jackson.”

Mr. Perv— Jackson’s jaw tightened and his eyes flashed blue. Isaac tightened his hold on Stiles, arms curling more firmly around him as he added in a slow rocking step, sneakily shuffling backwards out of reach.

“He’s so pretty,” Isaac continued, teasing Jackson. “All dressed up and sweet. He deserves to be savored, slowly.”

A hand dropped down to the sheer, soft material of Stiles’ sock-covered thigh, sliding slowly up the front of his skirt.

“I want to get under his pretty little skirt.” Fingertips traced the edge of lace at the top of his sock to the inside of his thigh before sliding up until there was a thumb brushing over his lace-covered balls. Stiles’ breath hitched.

“You’ll just rip up all this pretty lace,” Isaac continued breathily, tauntingly. “You get nice things too often, rich boy. You don’t understand how to truly enjoy something as fine as this.”

Jackson lunged for them with bared fangs and elongated claws only to be caught around the chest by Handsome Hulk. Isaac chuckled quietly against Stiles’ temple, completely unconcerned. In comparison, Stiles’ heart was racing and his chest was tight, conflicting with the simmer of heat between his legs. It shouldn’t be hot to have werewolves literally fighting over fucking him.

“Let me the fuck go, Boyd,” Jackson snapped, wrenching around out of Handsome Hulk’s hold. “Fine. You can fuck him first, but I call dibs on his mouth after.”

A threatening rumble came from the corner where the alpha lurked. All three ducked their heads down, though Jackson seemed annoyed with it.

“Fuck, alright, fine,” he grumbled. “I call dibs fucking him next. Looks like our alpha wants your mouth to himself, Little Red.”

“Since that’s settled,” Isaac said and Stiles was violently spun around before hands hooked the backs of his thighs just under his ass, hoisting him up, up, up in an impressive show of strength. His hands landed on Isaac’s shoulders, legs wrapped around Isaac’s ribs, and groin pressed firmly to the swell of his solar plexus. Isaac gazed up at Stiles in a mixture of awe and hunger.

They moved across the room and then Stiles was being slowly lowered, groin dragging down Isaac’s stomach, rucking up his skirt. A startled moan burst from Stiles at the hot slide over his chubbed up cock trapped in the tiny, lacy briefs he wore.

And then he was dropped all-together, falling backwards onto a bed where he didn’t even bounce. His skirt fluttered into a mess around his hips, leaving him partially exposed. Laid there, trying to catch his breath, hands creeping down to adjust his skirt, Stiles stared up at the ravenous expression on Isaac’s angelic face as the wolf stared down at the little bit of his panties that were visible.

Stiles pulled his legs closed, turning his knees inward as his fingers curled around the edges of his skirt ruffles. Isaac noticed. It seemed to only rev him up more, nostrils flaring and eyes widening.

“Don’t be coy,” he whispered and fell solidly to his knees as though he had a sudden weight dropped on him. Stiles winced at the painful sound of his knees hitting a rug over the hardwood floor. Then his legs were pulled apart, his hands were smacked across the knuckle and knocked aside, the front of his skirt shoved up, and Isaac was yanking him a scant few inches to the edge of the bed where his ass tipped precariously. Stiles fisted the soft flannel bedding to hold himself on the bed, chest heaving.

He jackknifed up off the bed in the next moment, throwing his head back with a shout when a mouth – humid and scorching – closed around the head of his cock through his panties. A shudder ripped through him and then he collapsed with a moan.

Stiles panted and moaned some more while the lace was soaked through by a tongue massaging the texture of the lace over his trapped cock. Isaac took his time bathing every inch of his growing erection with his tongue, hot breath teasing him through the thin material, alternatively leaving patches of drenched lace to cool before returning to make Stiles arch and whimper. Muscles in his thighs jumped and his heels kicked Isaac in the back in an involuntary twitch when his sinful mouth closed over the tip again, suckling up the taste of the precum Stiles had started leaking into the lace and dripping down into the crease of his hip. Isaac viciously scrubbed his tongue against Stiles’ frenulum sending an almost painful pulling of pleasure down into his balls and up into his gut with the added sensation of the lace. Stiles tried to twist away with a choked groan, curling up and collapsing, tugging at the bedding with his fists.

A gasp near the top of his bed had him throwing his head back to see who was up there.

He flushed from his ears to the tips of his toes in an embarrassed rush.

“Scott!!?” he yelped, confused. Isaac lifted his head to see what was going on and Stiles took his chance to roll away, shoving his skirt down over his wet erection. “ _What are you doing here_?!”

Scott just smiled sheepishly, exactly as crooked and dopey as Stiles remembered.

“I’m Hale pack,” he said with a single-shouldered shrug. Stiles sat back on his heels, hunching into himself. Scott was sitting cross-legged up against the headboard piled with pillows, nonchalant-as-you-please, and tenting his shorts. . .from watching Stiles writhe around and moan like he was getting paid to.

“Since when?” Stiles nearly shouted. He had not expected to see his childhood best friend in this kind of situation ever.

“Well,” Scott said with a little tilt of his head and an eye-roll. “Remember how I got bit in the woods that one night you dragged me out and then your dad got all pissed off and made you move away to live with your like, third cousins on your mom’s side to keep you out of trouble?”

Stiles nodded and spun the hand not keeping his skirt down in a ‘go on’ gesture.

“Yeah, since about then,” Scott said and grinned crookedly, just as adorably guileless as always. Then his expression sombered. “You missed a lot while you were gone.”

Stiles shifted his folded legs, trying to ignore how guilty that statement made him feel.

Isaac huffed behind him.

“Well, as adorable as this surprise reunion is,” he said and hooked an arm around Stiles’ waist, dragging him backwards off the bed. “I’d rather get back to fucking Little Red here. You two can catch up during your turn.”

Stiles was barely on his feet a few steps from the bed before Isaac was dropping down again, this time ducking under Stiles’ skirt and between his legs, putting his hot mouth to work on Stiles’ balls. Stiles’ knees went liquid and he scrambled for purchase on Isaac’s shoulders with a choked moan. One strong hand gripped the back of his knee and the other cupped his ass, just under the edge of his panty-line to keep him in place.

He cut a squinty glance over at Scott to gauge his reaction, still feeling the hot burn of embarrassment.

Scott was in the same position on the bed, but he had one hand cupping his dick with tiny, leisurely pets as he avidly watched Stiles and Isaac. Stiles was a little shocked that his attractive, (ex?)best-friend was turned on by the display.

“You got hot, Red,” Scott said, shrugging, probably seeing Stiles’ confusion.

“Yeah, right!” Stiles squeaked as Isaac tilted his head just enough to get his mouth on the skin of the inside of Stiles’ thigh, biting down hard.

“How are you even still doing this?” Jackson asked, annoyed, drawing Stiles’ attention back over his direction. He was loosely holding his dick through the material of his basketball shorts as he hungrily stared Stiles down.

“Dressed like you are? Doing what you do? Acting– Fuck! Acting like you don’t know just how fuckable you are! Jesus— fuck.”

Isaac pulled back and, with a little head toss, shook free from Stiles’ skirt, leaving Stiles’ panties a sopping wet mess all over in the front.

“Guys,” he gasped, looking half-crazed with his curls in disarray and his blue eyes wild. “We gotta loosen him up, get him ready.”

He turned toward Jackson. “You still wanna eat him out?”

Stiles’ hole clenched and he bit down on the noise that tried to escape him.

“Fuck. yeah...” Jackson breathed and went to take a step forward but a barely audible rumble stopped him. A warning. The alpha was suddenly on his feet next to Jackson, glaring him down. Jackson angrily bared his teeth.

“Are you kidding me!” he grit out from between them.

The alpha’s eyes bled red and he snarled, angling himself down in such a way that Jackson – though he wasn’t much shorter or much less built than the alpha – shrank in on himself, baring his throat, cowed.

“You know the rules, man,” Boyd murmured with an implied shrug. “Why do you even argue?”

Jackson shot him a glare that Stiles hardly paid any attention to because the alpha snorted a huff at them in dismissal and was stalking over to him and Isaac. He stopped just behind Isaac, placing a hand casually on the crown of curls at just the right height for it. Isaac tipped back into the hand the slightest bit, looking up. Stiles followed his gaze.

He couldn’t help the hitch in his breath and the way he tucked his chin down while squeezing his eyes shut as soon as he met those eyes, brighter and redder than his cape in a heap near the door. Neither could he prevent the flinch when a warm nose brushed his cheek and hot puffs of breath slowly fanned over his jaw and neck. It was instinctual, a lizard-brained response when one is faced with the threat of a predator so close— too close.

The alpha said nothing as he stood while Stiles’ heart beat frantically against his sternum. Then he was moving away, circling around behind Stiles and Stiles didn’t need to have his eyes open to know that. The alpha’s presence was tangible, a full body heated caress and a prickling of hair at the base of Stiles’ skull. Stiles felt him drop to his knees, hyper-aware of his movement through displacement of air alone as the man definitely was graceful enough not to make a noise when he went.

“Derek?” Isaac inquired quietly and Stiles jumped at the extra hands on the backs of his thighs. One pressed just above Isaac’s under his knee, guiding Stiles’ leg up and over the shoulder in front of him. Stiles’ breath sped up at the implication. Isaac secured him there as he dropped his other hand down and the alpha’s hand took his previous position on Stiles’ asscheek.

A thumb hooked under the edge of his panties and dipped deep into the cleft of his ass, pulling his underwear out of the way and pressing on his buttock to expose him to the open air under his skirt. Stiles couldn’t breathe, dizzy from the anticipation fizzing in his blood.

“Like this,” the alpha hissed seductively and his voice shocked Stiles. It wasn’t at all what he was expecting, surprisingly smooth, and, though pitched low, it wasn’t deep. Somehow, that had his arousal ramping up even more. He had to resist the urge to shiver, still covered by his skirt and barely touched. Fuck, he had _more experience than that._

Derek’s hot palm slid up the back of his thigh, over the lace of his stocking and strap of his garter holding it up, teasing sensitive uncovered skin at the crease just under his butt, before continuing, shoving the ruffles of his skirt up. He fisted them at Stiles’ lower back, exposing him some more. He tugged harder at the elastic lace of his briefs and Stiles squeaked at the ache the pressure created on his balls, cupped in the ergonomic design.

Isaac ducked back under at his front and Stiles got only simultaneous puffs of burning breaths as his warning and then two mouths were on his most intimate places, wet and eager and _driving him insane._

He moaned high and desperate as neither started slow. Isaac nudged the head of his dick free of the waistband and was enthusiastically lapping over it, flicking the tip of his tongue around the ridge of it, mouthing and kissing over it, in a senseless pattern Stiles wouldn’t be able to keep track of even if he didn’t have other things drawing his attention away. Behind him, Derek went straight for the kill. The tip of _his_ tongue was already pressing into Stiles, massaging his rim and swirling. It was _so wet_ and Derek’s stubble burned exquisitely on the smooth skin between his cheeks. Stiles had raised up on his toes into (away from?) the stimulation, mewling and clawing at Isaac’s single bare shoulder and scalp just trying to hold on.

The pressure on his balls suddenly lessened and lace tickled his ass. Derek’s claw had sliced clean through the back of his panties. The alpha pulled away with a growl and switched hands, gathering the loose lace up with Stiles’ skirt. Then he held Stiles open and Stiles barely registered the soft sound of tongue-sucking before Derek was spitting. Thick saliva trickled down Stiles crack toward his hole, shocking him frozen. . .right before keening and nearly collapsing as two (two! right off the bat!) thick fingers sunk into him down to the second knuckle.

If it hadn’t been for Isaac’s hands supporting his lower half and dark-skinned arms slipping under his, nudging them up and over muscled shoulders, the three of them would have ended up in a decidedly unsexy pile.

Stiles was barely able to look up to meet Boyd’s smirking dark eyes before he was slamming his eyelids shut and all-out, full, open-mouthed moaning into the guy’s collarbone as Derek thrust his fingers in and out of Stiles, unable to sink farther than the second knuckle without uncomfortably dry tugging at his rim.

“It’s not enough!” Stiles wailed, strung-up between the three of them. “‘Ts’not gonna be wet enough!”

“Yes it will,” Derek murmured menacingly, scissoring his fingers apart just enough to spit directly into Stiles' hole, twisting and thrusting them down to the webbing between his fingers with the added slick. Stiles' face burned, his gut swooping as his muscles locked up and he shrieked, clamping down on those fingers.

He burned. He ached. It fanned his arousal into a roar.

Derek’s tongue was there, drooling around his fingers as he lapped at Stiles rim, incrementally thrusting his fingers to work his saliva deeper.

Stiles wasn’t sure how but Isaac had most of his dick freed from his ruined panties (the head still caught in the elastic) and was suckling up and down the underside. Between the two on their knees, there was no way Stiles had the brain-power to engage in a kiss, but that didn’t seem to deter Boyd, who was using his plush lips to muffle the noises Stiles couldn’t help but make. Stiles dug his fingernails into the back of his neck and just held on, let his mouth hang open for Boyd’s use, following when he could.

He could have come like that. _Would have_ come like that, especially after Isaac tugged him free and swallowed him down and killed Stiles’ ability to breathe.

But eventually, Derek’s mouth and fingers left him, almost uncomfortably slick all the way down to his inner thighs. And Isaac pulled away, leaving his dick a hanging mess, heavy with blood and tenting his skirt out. Stiles destroyed undies fluttered down across the top of one mary jane and then there was only Boyd supporting him, lips latched onto his neck and carefully massaging a bruise into a blossoming iris. Stiles whimpered and stumbled back, too distracted to care where he was being steered by the man.

That was, he had no reason to care until Boyd’s hands tightened on his waist and, with a yelp, his feet left the floor, tipping him back...

Into Isaac’s waiting hands, catching him and easing him down, his back to Isaac’s chest, legs splayed around Isaac’s as they lounged back in the only other armchair in the cabin. He whipped around – as much as he could – to see Isaac, dark, oceanic-blue eyes hooded and intent on him. A tug upward from Isaac’s hands on his hips had Isaac’s erection sliding down the crease of his ass and slipping between his thighs, standing at attention against Stiles’ balls. Isaac was nude. Butt-nekkid. Lost the last piece of clothing truly between them now that they were plastered together (where it mattered). Stiles’ heels searched out the edge of the cushion.

Watching one another intently, Isaac lifted him up by the hips, arching him gently upward and dragging the length of his cock over the seam of Stiles’ tight sac, down the line of his taint, until the ridge of his cockhead was teasing the softened rim of his hole. With a shaky inhale, Stiles reached down for it. His fingers skimmed down the side of his own erection weighing down a mass of rumpled silk across the crease of his hip on the way, cupping his balls with a gentle roll. Then the pads of his fingers found Isaac’s cock.

Without any preamble, no extra fondling or mental preparation, Stiles pressed the tip of Isaac’s cock into his ass.

Isaac’s fingers tightened around his hips, thumbs digging into his lower back just below his corset, right where his ass curved out. He hissed in a tight breath. Stiles swiveled his hips in one precise circle that seated another centimeter of Isaac in him, fingers still cupping around what was left of Isaac’s cock outside him.

Then it was his turn to hiss as Isaac seated Stiles on his cock, lowering him down hips first while fucking up into the heat of Stiles’ ass with a bare handful of short thrusts.

They both exhaled heavily, almost in sync, when Stiles’ ass rested in the cradle of his pelvis.

Isaac surged up, throwing his arms around Stiles, pinning Stiles’ arms to his sides. He shoved up with his hips, grinding his dick into Stiles’ hole. Stiles bit his lips together on the groan rolling out of his chest, at the perfect pressure filling him, the slightly-too-dry rub at his rim as Isaac moved.

If he’d had any reservations about proceeding with getting fucked by everyone in the cabin with him before, they were dead now. Murdered due to blood loss. Like the brain cells he was losing from all his blood rushing back down to his dick again.

He’d shrunk down to a half-chub as Isaac worked himself balls-deep into Stiles, but it was impossible for him not to fill out again. Not with the way Isaac was reaching up and cupping his chin, turning his face and tilting him into a lengthy devouring kiss, locking him down in place on his cock with the world’s snuggest hug-from-behind. As the kiss petered out and Isaac moved to his neck and shoulder, kissing softly, chastely up and down on one side, across his nape to treat the other side the same, he used his roaming hands to rearrange Stiles to his liking. His skirt was untucked from between them and settled back mostly in order. Stiles’ feet were lifted one at a time and set down just above Isaac’s knees, mary jane ballet flats still firmly strapped on.

Once everything was to Isaac’s liking, he leaned back into the earthen tones of the cushy pillow at the back of the armchair, drawing Stiles down with him. He gripped at Stiles’ hips again and Stiles hooked one arm under his, curling his fingers around one unassumingly impressive bicep. His other hand grabbed at the low, knobby, natural-wood arm of the chair.

And then Isaac was lifting him and lowering him by the hips, a slow push and pull, like a wave slowly rolling over a warm sandy beach on a lazy afternoon. Stiles moaned lowly, surrendering himself into the motion, dropping his head back onto Isaac’s shoulder and tilting his hips, letting his body fall into the natural arch created. It wasn’t long before his hand was relocating from the chair to Isaac’s mop of curls to hold on. He turned his head and tucked his nose behind the hinge of a sculpted jaw, breathing in the soft scent of shampoo and the musk of clean, dewy sweat gathering there, just below Isaac’s ear.

Isaac spread their legs further apart, changing the angle with it just enough to have his dick brushing past Stiles’ prostate every third or fourth lazy thrust. Stiles fell into the rhythm enough that he found himself doing most of the work and Isaac only needed to use one hand to support him, the one attached to the bicep Stiles had his fingers curled around, delighting in the slow bunch and release of the tendons and sinews there.

The free hand that Isaac found himself with danced up Stiles’ belly, touches he felt only as little taps through the bones and stiff fabric of his corset. Isaac even traced the delicate lacing of the ribbon up his middle, reverent, until those fingers reached his upper chest. There, over the thin cotton of his peasant top, Isaac’s dancing fingers were warm trails leading to one of his nipples, feeling it out just above the curving top of his corset. Those wicked fingers pinched and twisted, making Stiles gasp arch up, fucking momentarily paused mid-thrust.

A desperate tug and shove later had Isaac discovering just how small his top was, untucking it from his corset and gathering it up around Stiles’ underarms.

“Even almost completely clothed, this is probably one of the hottest fucking things I’ve ever seen.”

Jackson’s muttered words were like a gunshot. Stiles had forgotten about the other people in the room, so wrapped up in Isaac he had been. He jerked his head in Jackson’s direction and found him close, closer than expected, nearly between their legs. His dick was out and he stroked it loosely but with casually measured strokes.

Stiles burned in an embarrassment he didn’t realize he still possessed, knees nearly slamming together in a vain attempt to hide himself. Too late, he remembered that there was no way the skirt hung down and was long enough to cover his hole where Isaac was buried almost balls deep again.

“Oh, no, Little Red, don’t do that,” Jackson admonished, yanking Stiles’ legs open again and dropping down between them, dipping his head down to lap at Stiles’ ass, up his taint to his balls, and then back down again, sucking on everything. Stiles shuddered breathlessly.

Jackson drew one of Stiles’ balls into his mouth and Stiles had to turn and tuck his face into Isaac’s neck when he caught sight of the three other pairs of faintly glowing eyes in the room intently watching him— them— Him. Definitely him. Boyd and Scott were glued to where Jackson was working him over so he was dripping wet again, making his chest heave and the muscles in his abdomen twitch. Derek, when he peeked, was staring right at him. Not his lips, not his neck, not his chest, not his dick laying back across his stomach in the silks of his skirt, not where Jackson’s mouth laved over all of it.

Stiles. Him. His face, his expressions, his eyes. Derek was a marble statue, but his eyes were boring into Stiles in a way he absolutely couldn’t stand.

With a whimper he twisted into Isaac, squeezing his eyes shut.

Jackson, apparently satisfied with his work between Stiles’ legs, stood up, mouthing up Stiles’ dick as he went. He rubbed his cheek against the silky folds of the skirt, humming in satisfaction. He kissed the lace panels on the corset, and licked over the ribbons front and center, staining them an even-darker red with his saliva. Then he was bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning down to seal his mouth around one of Stiles’ exposed nipples. Stiles lost his breath as Jackson’s mouth worked, sucking hard and pressing his teeth into his flesh, working his tongue in rough undulations over it.

When he pulled off, it was like breaking a seal and Stiles cracked his eyes open to see. His chest was shiny with saliva and bright red where Jackson’s mouth had been, moisture clinging to his mouth. He was admiring how puffy he had made Stiles’ nipple for only a heartbeat before dipping back down and giving the other side the same treatment. Stiles groaned and shoved his hands into hair, one grounding himself in Isaac’s curls and the other fisting Jackson’s, indecisive about trying to pull him off.

He didn’t have to worry.

“Ugh, go away Jackson,” Isaac said while shoving at Jackson’s face. “I wanna get back to fucking him. You can do that shit when it’s your turn.”

Jackson snarled at him but swaggered back, falling to the floor and leaning against the foot of the bed, hand loosely working his dick again.

Isaac tilted his head and suckled at Stiles’ lips, cupping his jaw and licking into his mouth so sweetly Stiles toes curled inside his flats. He moaned delicately as he was swept up in it, _feeling_ soft and sweet, innocent. Indecent. Isaac’s hands traced over every inch of him he could reach, fingertips skimming little bits of exposed skin and sliding down his arm. They gripped and groped at him where he was covered, an aching tease. His mouth followed the trail of Stiles’ moles next to his mouth, across his cheek, to the lobe of his ear where he nipped it before placing gently sucking kisses behind his ear on his neck, overlapping them until Stiles was sure he’d be all blotchy and marked up there.

His hands hooked under Stiles’ knees and pulled them as far apart as they could go, Stiles whimpering at the strain. And then choking on the noise when Isaac started grinding up into him with slow, shallow thrusts. The angle had him rubbing up into Stiles spot with just enough pressure to make him smolder with pleasure. The soft tugs of friction on his rim didn’t help.

“Look at you,” Isaac whispered hotly into his ear. “So pretty. God, seeing you made me crazy. Did you know we’ve been watching you for awhile now?”

Stiles flushed and shook his head, tipping it back onto Isaac’s shoulder again, moaning lowly in the base of his throat.

“This opportunity...” Isaac breathed, grunted as he changed to short bursts of just thrusting interspersed with just grinding. Stiles panted and scrabbled at his arms for something to hold onto. He clenched down, unable to help it.

“We had an idea of what to expect but _oohhhhhhnnnn—”_ Isaac groaned. “Fuck! You’re so fucking pretty. You came through that door all demure and scared, and I wanted to corner you, cut you off from the others, peel you slowly out of every piece of fabric... I wanted to take hours working you over until you were gooey and limp. I would have fucked you like it was your first time.”

And Stiles got it. He did. He saw how he looked in his outfit. Gentle, sweet, delicate, and _pure._ He could do that. It wasn’t him, wasn’t how he was naturally, but Isaac – sweet, cherubic Isaac – made him _feel_ like he was. The way he touched Stiles, the way he restrained himself, the way he kissed him, the way he held Stiles – practically wrapped up around him...

“Oh, please,” Stiles whimpered, reaching up to cup Isaac’s jaw and turn into him, nuzzling his nose under Isaac’s chin in a move that would drive the wolf in him wild. “I would have let you. Please, you’re making me feel _so good._ ”

He blushed, an honest-to-god one, borne of a sense of embarrassment that didn’t make sense, all things considered. He wasn’t a virgin. And he had played roles before, many times in his life for many different reasons. He shouldn’t have any problems with this. _It shouldn’t have him squirming and straining to press his legs shut, like a comely virgin about to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf,_ **_especially_ ** _since he was already mid-coitus with him._

“I-Isaac?” Stiles purposefully stuttered. “Please keep being g-gentle with me. I want it so badly. W-want you. Want what you s-said.”

Warmth suffused Stiles gut at his own words. Isaac seemed to pick up on it as he transferred both of Stiles’ legs to one arm, held like a bar under his thighs and turning his lower half one way while Isaac’s other deceptively strong arm clutched him close across the chest, hitching him up. Stiles grabbed at that arm as Isaac thrust up into him, using the extra room to slowly withdraw before fucking back up, back in with single shoving thrusts.

Stiles let out high, little punched-out moans in time with their screwing, babbling breathlessly when he felt like it.

“Never felt like this before,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. (So weird.) Which spurred Isaac to tighten his hold to breathlessness and hiss between his teeth, right into Stiles’ ear.

“Please don’t sto-op. You feel so-oh! _gooood_ ,” Stiles whined and tucked his face into Isaac’s neck.

“Please, ohplease, Isaac! I wanna c-c-cuuum!”

Isaac snarled and sat up abruptly, halting their rhythm. Stiles actually didn’t mean to whimper that time.

“ _I’m_ gonna come,” he growled. “Gonna knot you.”

He rearranged Stiles (with minimal help from Stiles) so he was straddling him, feet hooked through the open space of the arms of the chair, hooked around the wood to brace him. His hands were set on Isaac’s knees for support and Isaac’s hands were solidly gripping his hips, his waist, forcing him into a steady bounce. Stiles moaned and shoved back into him, fucking himself on the dick that had been buried in him for so long already. Even with such minimal prep at the beginning, he felt loose and wet and open for Isaac now.

“Fuck!” Isaac grunted breathily. Stiles felt what had to be his knot forming. It stretched and tugged on the withdraw, popping back in when Stiles sat back. It was unlike anything Stiles had felt before. And the stretch never stopped, his rim burned steadily like a stoked ember. It kept expanding until Isaac, with a grit-toothed roar, yanked Stiles down into his lap, onto his knot, and came. His knot swelled up even more, similar to a plug inside Stiles except for how Isaac was twitching and grinding it into Stiles’ prostate and he could feel Isaac’s dick starting to pulse with his release.

Stiles moaned lowly and might have reached for his own neglected cock if there hadn’t been four pairs of hungry eyes boring into him. Instead, he reached down and gathered his skirt up to make room for his curious fingers, leaving Isaac alone to pant and whine into the back of his neck.

“Oh,” he said when he reached down and felt the bulging pressure coming from inside, on the other side of his stretched rim. “Oh!”

Isaac flinched when Stiles’ curious fingers brushed over his tight, lightly-fuzzed balls, drawn-up and spasming at the base of his cock. Stiles had to resist the urge to cup them, press and massage them, already sensing just from the accidental rub that Isaac was too sensitive for it.

Instead, Stiles focused on letting his breathing slow and tucked his dick up under his skirt, flicking the ruffles to fall and cover him again.

“Hey,” he breathed, reached back for Isaac’s curls. “Kiss me.”

Isaac lifted his head and Stiles craned around to search out Isaac’s lips. Isaac met him, chastely. They kissed closed-mouthed for several long moments – parting and meeting, overlapping and brushing – before Isaac withdrew and helped Stiles’ cramping legs out of their uncomfortably curled positions. He brought them around, rubbing gently at the stiff muscles, and pressed them together between Isaac’s, feet flat on the floor again. Without the strain, Isaac sweetly coaxed him into a round of deep, searching kisses that had Stiles shuddering and milking Isaac’s cock where it was nestled in him. Completely involuntarily. It was just that good. His tongue made Stiles’ insides fluttery and warm. All the way down around Isaac’s dick.

“How much longer?” Stiles asked quietly just as another pulse came from Isaac’s cock. Isaac squeezed his arms around Stiles and panted into the side of his neck.

“Just a little longer,” he groaned out as Stiles sucked on his own, wet bottom lip.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Isaac’s knot shrank very suddenly, his softening cock slipping out with a gush of warm cum. Stiles gasped and clenched his legs tighter together in surprise.

“That’s right, Little Red,” Jackson said menacingly, like a bucket of ice water in the quiet, heated bubble of the rest of the room. He was standing. And stalking toward them. “Keep all that cum slicked up inside you. You’re gonna need it for what I have planned for you.”

Then he was right there in front of them, popping the bubble.

He snatched Stiles up out of Isaac’s warm, lingering embrace and flung him at the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My working title for this fic started out as Little Red Riding Stiles (LRRS)
> 
> As I tag this work, I want to make sure I hit the big things, the real draws to the fic, the things people look for as well as avoid... Which means that I had to have an open tab just to search tags to see if it would apply under the general consensus for this fic. Like I actually thought to myself, "Should I put 'Lace' in the tags since everything about Stiles wearing it is considered a main part of this kink?" Which cleared up all of nothing except that there were over 3700 works with lace somewhere in the title/tags/summary. A 'lace' tag does exist but there's not a lot there. And then that led me to 'clothing kink' which, yeah, actually pretty much does apply to this fic.
> 
> Anyway, I told my friend I wouldn't post this until they commented and they literally commented with the word "comment" after messaging me on tumblr to tell me that I am required by law for the proceeding:  
>  _Stiles walked past all his haterz in his blood red corset and miniskirt. They were all just a bunch of preps anyway. He put up his middle finger at them._
> 
> So there you have it. Kind of a tame first real smutty chapter. Maybe. I don't know. My brain has quit working. If there's something you think I should include in the notes at the beginning or if you have a tag you think I should include, drop it in the comment section below.
> 
> *blows kisses*


	4. The Snake In Wolf's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles' time with Jackson is very different from his time with Isaac. But Little Red has claws too.
> 
> _He snatched Stiles up out of Isaac’s warm, lingering embrace and flung him at the bed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **BIG FUCKING WARNING! PAY ATTENTION!** Please look at the tags before continuing. This chapter is a bit heavier than the last.  PROCEED AT YOUR OWN CAUTION (Just a reminder that everything in this fic is utter FILTH, not to be taken seriously)
> 
>  ** _MAJOR KINKS WITH WARNINGS:_** NON-NEGOTIATED KINK, Stiles and Jackson don't discuss what is essentially a rough sexual scene; _D/S OVERTONES;_ FEAR as a kink, specifically the adrenaline response of causing it; _THREATS both as verbal dirty talk and as physical behavior;_ MILD VIOLENCE including spanking, slapping, clawing, biting, the threat of choking, and a few painful thrusts during sex; _RESTRAINT in the form of holding someone by the throat and an article of clothing being used to tie Stiles up;_ HUMILIATION in the form of name-calling, intimidation, and begging/pleading; _CRYING;_ IGNORED 'NO' Stiles says 'no' to some things and is either ignored or denied, keep in mind that he does have what is essentially a functioning safeword (that he can say to stop everything at any time) and the other werewolves would step in (and do at the end) when Stiles his a limit (the end happening within seconds and Derek stepping in to control Jackson while Scott grounds Stiles) -underlined because this can be extremely sensitive material for some people-
> 
>  **MINOR KINKS - NO WARNINGS** dirty talk; _hate sex - kind of;_ hickies _nipple play;_ fighting; _pursuit;_ rough sex; _slight feminization;_
> 
> HEED THE TAGS - HEED THE WARNINGS

With a flail – and a sharp spike of fear as he was temporarily weightless – Stiles landed face down on the edge of the bed. He could _feel_ Jackson’s looming presence slinking closer and he scrambled up onto the bed. It was _instinct_ to get away. He had to. Scott was still on the bed, still sitting against the headboard. If Stiles could get to him, he would be fine. Safe.

Strong fingers grabbed his hips and dragged him back down the bed, flipping him onto his back. He was on the edge again – ass just barely on the mattress – with his legs curled up and his knees wedged protectively between him and Jackson as he loomed over Stiles.

“Oh, don’t be like that, Red,” Jackson crooned, with his lips curled into a derisive half-smirk. He skimmed his palms along the outsides of Stiles’ legs, down from the knee, humming in appreciation at the softness of his delicate thigh-highs. It wasn’t reassuring.

In fact, Stiles found it hard to breathe because of the icy wash of adrenaline in his veins, chest heaving above his corset. Jackson’s fingers slipped under him at his waist in an almost subtle caress. The claws pressing threateningly through the lacing and fabric of his corset to rest on his spine were the exact opposite of subtle. Stiles’ own fingers clawed Jackson’s arms, fingernails digging into his biceps.

“Please don’t!” he gasped, pleadingly staring up into icy blue eyes underlined by a deceptively sweet smattering of freckles. Jackson just quirked one perfectly sculpted, haughty eyebrow.

“I— It’s just...” Stiles couldn’t speak, not with the way Jackson was hovering over him, close enough his erection was brushing Stiles’ exposed asscheeks like a threat, and not when there were the tips of deadly claws pressing into the skin over his spine.

“It’s so expensive,” Stiles whispered meekly. “Please don’t rip it. I-I was hoping to wear it again. I really want to. It’s so nice and I never knew how-how expensive corsets were. Please. Please don’t ruin it.”

Jackson’s eyebrow lowered and his expression dropped, becoming extremely unimpressed. But he retracted his claws, removed his hands from Stiles and took a half-step back. Stiles didn’t dare move, gaze locked onto Jackson. Jackson tilted his head consideringly - almost like a raptor or lizard - and then, before Stiles could blink, he was lunging forward.

Stiles yelped as he was seized at the hips and flipped face-down again, bent over the end of the bed on wobbly, sagging knees. Clawed fingers traced over the waxy, braided cord that held his corset together and then there was a rhythmic, gentle tugging at the base of his spine. The corset began to loosen, a quiet chorus of cords slithering through eyelets _– fffwwp_ – and a single tugging claw hooking them _– wsshhhhh_ – filled the tense, waiting silence of the room.

The braided cord was tossed over the side of the bed and Stiles was peeled out of the corset, Jackson tugging it free from underneath him. It was casually discarded somewhere Stiles couldn’t see, but he could hear the heavy, ribbed fabric land. Jackson trailed his claws down Stiles’ back, teasing pinpricks of good _wrong_ happy _bad_ making him suppress a shiver. They tapped contemplatively along the slight dimples just above the waist of his skirt (pinky, ring, middle, index). Needle pricks. Stiles held himself tight and still. His heart rabbited in the cage of his chest.

He doubted Isaac’s cum would be leaking out of him any time soon.

“Where to start...” Jackson breathed to himself. “So many things I want to do. Fuck. I would love to bunch this pretty little skirt up and frame your tight little ass with it as I fuck you like this... But God, I need to get my mouth on that needy hole of yours. Could fuck you on my tongue for hours, Little Red. Lick you until you come, and then keep going until it hurts. I had this girlfriend I’d spend hours eating out, not caring when or how many times she came, until her clit was so sore she cried when I licked it.”

Jackson slipped his hands up the back of Stiles’ skirt, palming his ass, cradling the meat of it with his thumbs just under the cheeks, lifting and shoving so that Stiles was sliding up the bed, bracing on the heels of his hands to prevent his face from getting friction burned.

“But I _really_ want to spend some time torturing your puffy little nipples. Wanna suck them until they’re all plumped up and so sensitive, breathing on one would have you coming. My girl’s nipples had always been too sensitive to do anything with, but I was with this guy once who fell apart when I did anything to his. You seem like you’re in that sweet spot where you’re sensitive enough to really squirm with a mouth on them without it hurting. Well. Fuck it. I wouldn’t stop even if it did hurt.”

Stiles whimpered and shoved his face into the comforter over the mattress. His hole spasmed so hard a glop of Isaac’s cum escaped and trickled down over his taint to his heavy sac. His cheeks burned.

“Maybe I’ll stuff you full of my dick before I do it,” Jackson continued, and his claws disappeared from Stiles’ skin. “Give you something to squirm on and fuck yourself with. Would love to feel the way you’d clamp down every time I touched one.”

There was a tiny jerk on the waist of his skirt and the sound of a thin zipper cut through the near silence of the room. Fingers curled under the top of the loosened article and shimmied it down over Stiles’ rounded ass and lithe thighs. Stiles helpfully lifted one knee up from the bed and then the other to aid Jackson’s removal of the skirt. Mostly because he was pretty sure that if he didn’t, Jackson wouldn’t have any qualms about knocking him around whatever direction he wanted to yank it off, ruining the skirt.

“Or maybe I’ll just beat this pretty little ass until it’s black and blue and red all over and you’re begging me to just fuck you.”

Stiles was glad he had the comforter to shove his face into since he really didn’t want to admit how much that idea turned him on, his already torturously hard cock twitching and blurting pre out at the thought. There was a deep inhale from Jackson and Stiles was reminded that he was in a tiny cabin with only werewolves.

They could _smell_ him.

Stiles was roughly flipped again, this time coming face-to-fang with a partially wolfed-out Jackson whose bluer eyes had a gleam of hungry malice in them. And Stiles had a shocking moment of clarity. Jackson _wanted_ to hurt him. _Wanted him afraid._ And Stiles was not prepared for whatever it was Jackson wanted to _actually_ do to him. Stiles could tell that the switch had already been flipped in his head – bad idea or not, Jackson was following through.

Without thinking too hard on the possible consequences since a low-level panic was creeping up on him, Stiles tried to kick him in the throat. He missed since they were too close, but he _did_ hit Jackson along the collar with his heel. And it maybe would have made a normal person sway back if not stumble away. But all it did to Jackson was maybe, possibly piss him off. He seemed caught between anger and offense, like he couldn’t believe Stiles had tried it.

And then it was _on_.

Jackson snarled and knocked both of Stiles’ legs to the side, reaching for his face in a bruising grip across the mouth, thumb digging in just under his cheekbone.

“If you try that shit again—” Was all Jackson was able to hiss from between his fangs before Stiles caught him in the face with his fingernails, slapping him with curled fingers to leave four red welts across the side of his cheek.

Heat and pain bloomed into life in the meat of Stiles’ cheek. One of his hands flew up to cup it, shocked that Jackson had slapped him, actually _slapped_ him. He grit his teeth and glared angrily up at the wolf, wishing in that moment that he could look more threatening than a particularly pouty kitten. Jackson had a smug-ass fucking grin on his stupid, already-healing face and Stiles swung again, his own face throbbing hotly in time with his emotions.

It never made contact. There was some flailing and shoving, grabbing and twisting, a jerking shake or two. For sure, Stiles was acquiring new bruises. They _hurt,_ since the fuckwad wasn’t even trying to go easy. Jackson was struggling to hold him down and Stiles wasn’t letting him at all, werewolf strength or not. He was raised a cop’s son; he knew how to break holds.

They tussled on a razor’s edge, neither aiming to truly hurt or completely break away. It was a dick-measuring of sorts. So they grunted and hissed and snapped. But it didn’t feel serious until Jackson finally gave a deep, annoyed growl. The sound unexpectedly punched Stiles in the gut, like a hit right in the solar plexus. It knocked his breath out and rattled his ribs. A line crossed.

It scared the shit out of him.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe and an insane, claustrophobic weight pressed in on him. His lizard-brain was freaking the fuck out. Because of who it was hovering over him. And Stiles was having some minor flashbacks to every shoulder-check, slam against a locker, and constant casual minor act of violence he suffered in high school. The kind that kept him thinking, “what if” and “when,” waiting for the other shoe, that moment of escalation. _That_ was Jackson, and every toolbag like him. Rich, white chucklefucks who gave less than half a shit for anyone except themselves on a sociopathic, unempathetic, narcissistic level.

Jackson was escalating, and Stiles would suffer.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, and then, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” as he slipped the stupor he was in and started slapping at Jackson’s face, shoving at him with his legs, wiggling in a bid to move up the bed away from him.

Jackson caught his wrists in tight fists and shoved them into the bedspread, breathing angrily through his nose and staring down at Stiles, wild-eyed.

“Come on, Little Red,” he said, lips peeling back from his teeth in a crooked, menacing smile, showing off straight, blunt pearly-whites. “You wanna be like that, let's go.”

He shoved down on Stiles’ wrists hard enough to make the bed tremble, and Stiles with it.

“I was gonna be good to you, Red,” he said, releasing Stiles to straighten up and shove his basketball shorts down his legs. They slid the rest of the way, not that Stiles cared at that moment, faced with an angry naked werewolf intent on him. “Was gonna make you feel good. I told you, slut, exactly how good you could have it with me, and you scratched me. You little bitch.”

He stepped up in close to Stiles again, prising his legs open at the knee. Stiles’ resistance may as well have been kitten-weak. The muscles in his legs shivered with a strain that Jackson didn't even acknowledge.

“You wanna play rough?” he whispered harshly as he forced their bodies together, bare except for Stiles’ garterbelt, thigh highs and shoes, and his crop top shoved up under his arms. He may as well been buck naked for all the good any of it did him. He trembled as his chest heaved.

“I can give you rough,” Jackson growled. One of his hands wrapped around Stiles’ throat and the other dropped between their bodies.

Stiles dug his fingernails into skin and raked them down Jackson’s arm. He frantically scratched at the back of the hand at his throat, trying to dislodge it. The pressure wasn’t enough to hurt, not even enough to cut into his breathing. Just the silent press of threat. Stiles was actually more concerned with the blunt head of Jackson’s dick rubbing over his cum-slick asshole as the wolf lined up.

Stiles bucked his hips, twisted away to throw off Jackson’s aim, even as the tip spread him wide, almost popping in without resistance with how loose he was from taking Isaac already. He had only a heartbeat to catch Jackson’s feral grin before the wolf was gripping his hip and holding him still—

A wet choking noise erupted from Stiles as his whole body tried to curl, stopped by the hand over his throat (and the other at his hip). Jackson hissed in satisfaction, his whole dick punched deep up inside Stiles. There was a dull ache radiating out from his gut, slightly crampy in sensation. That had fucking hurt!

“That it?’ Jackson husked, radiating smugness as Stiles huffed through grit teeth and glared up at him. “Is that how you want it, Little Red?”

He gave two more harsh, jabbing thrusts that Stiles choked through. His legs squeezed around Jackson’s ribs, instinctively trying to close, to protect the place he hurt.

“No? You don't want it like that?” Stiles puffed several breaths out before reluctantly giving a minute head shake. It felt like a concession. Yielding.

“Want me to make you feel good again?” There was a pause and Stiles realized he was supposed to answer.

He nodded, but only just barely.

“What was that?” Jackson mocked, putting just enough pressure down on Stiles’ adam's apple to make him _feel_ like he was choking. He released Stiles’ neck entirely a second later.

“Yes,” Stiles whispered, knowing Jackson (and every other wolf) could hear him.

“I couldn't hear that,” Jackson stated with as much doucheyness as an after-school-special bully. “Why don't you speak up and remember your manners. ...Bitch.”

Stiles grit his teeth. It felt like resistance. It felt right. He _wouldn't_ degrade himself. Asking the likes of Jackson to just be a decent person, all polite and shit, went against everything Stiles was, and not in a good way - like with Isaac.

But... But that's not how this was. Not how it was supposed to go. And there was always the option of tapping out, of calling out to the alpha for protection. Which also went against who Stiles was. Besides, he’d miss out on getting to fuck the other three wolves. If he wanted, Stiles just needed to decide when enough was enough.

All or nothing.

And like a true asshole, Jackson just waited for him in the tense silence.

“Yes, _please_ ,” Stiles said, trying not to sound sarcastic or disdainful at all. It was so _so_ hard.

“Say ‘please make me feel good, Jackson. Please suck my girly little nips and fuck my hot, slutty hole.’ Make me _believe_ you need it.”

Stiles clenched his teeth and inhaled sharply, angrily.

Then he released it with most of the tension in his body. He let it go, let himself slip into the persona and met Jackson's gaze.

“Please,” he breathed wantonly. “I wanna feel good. Make me feel good, Jackson. Suck my girly little nips and fuck my hot, _tight_ , slutty little hole. Please, Jackson.”

Stiles deliberately squeezed down around Jackson's cock in his ass when he said “tight,” victoriously reveling in the low groan that came from the back of Jackson's throat. Jackson looked down at him with burning reconsideration.

He didn't say anything. He leaned down and kissed Stiles, slow and deep. Stiles suckled on his tongue, twining his own with it and sealing their lips together around the slick muscles. Jackson may piss him off on principle, but he was gorgeous and he smelled good – all faint traces of something expensive and light, some For Men fragrance that had a matching For Women scent and cost seventy bucks a bottle but lasted for-fucking-ever because you barely had to use it, something actually worth the money. Stiles wouldn't mind rolling around naked in sheets that smelled like that, rubbing all up on Jackson. Especially if he kept kissing Stiles like he was, almost following Stiles’ lead and giving back as good as he gets.

He pulled back sucking on Stiles’ bottom lip before diving right back in, mouth open enough to catch all of the plump flesh between his teeth. He slowly dragged the gentle pressure of his bite – no fangs – off in an agonizing slide that had Stiles tilting up into it and shuddering. He may have whimpered, just a bit. Once free, Stiles’ bottom lip was shiny and wet, perfectly swollen and aching.

“Your mouth, Little Red,” Jackson rasped, sounding much less put together than before. “Wish I could fuck that perfect fucking mouth, see your pretty lips stretched eagerly around my dick. Would let you take your time, getting me all wet before fucking your throat. Do it all slow-like. Make you take it down to my nuts, then pull out and paint your fucking lips with my precum. Would hold your hair and do that until you were crying and your dick was purple.”

Stiles clenched the fingers that had found their way into Jackson's hair. His blood seemed to be pulsing with the cadence of Jackson speaking, rising to the surface and he _wished_ he was flushing with embarrassment. And he knew that Jackson could hear, could smell, just how unopposed he was to all of that. Especially with how he had nuzzled his way down Stiles’ neck, sucking brief kisses the whole way. Fuck, he might even be able to _taste_ just how much Stiles’ blood boiled with want.

Too soon, his mouth found one of Stiles’ nipples and latched on. And latched on was _exactly_ the appropriate phrase. He sucked hard, enough to hurt, to ache. But it just sent tight pleasure zipping through Stiles’ gut and into his groin, like a livewire between his chest and his balls.

Stiles hissed and arched up into it, holding Jackson in place. He restlessly twisted his hips and wiggled as Jackson was true to his threats, alternately giving Stiles’ nipple small nips and kisses, large dragging bites and playful pinches, deep pulling sucks and gentle suckling nurses that had Stiles’ toes curling. He was edging an almost painful numbness from overstimulation, squirming and squealing uncontrollably, when Jackson clamped down. He bit Stiles’ flesh and nipple and almost seemed to roll it between his teeth.

Stiles shrieked. He tugged and jerked and thrashed his head, trying to dislodge the _fucking vampire_ suddenly attached to him.

Jackson let go after only a handful of seconds but it felt like forever. He at least had the decency to give a long, soothing lick to Stiles’ poor, abused nipple.

He laved Stiles’ chest on over to the next one and Stiles whimpered as it was given the same treatment. Even with the expectation for the end, Stiles was left panting shallowly and clinging to Jackson's hair through the pain. That nipple was soothed with a stream of cool air as Jackson lifted up admire his work. Stiles took a glance down and— HOLY SHIT! He was so red and swollen around his hickey-covered nipples, pebbled into peaks, that it looked like he actually had tits. Small ones, but still. And that idea shouldn't be arousing but the precum dripping onto his stomach from his dick told a different story.

“Fuck you look so good like this,” Jackson breathed, standing up straight to free up his hands to touch, reaching out with thumbs to brush over the stiff pearls of his nipples.

Stiles hissed through grit teeth, eyes slammed shut, as he juddered away from the touch.

“Your tits are so sensitive now,” Jackson whispered and that shouldn't make Stiles twitch and squeeze around the cock buried in him as something low in his gut swooped and fluttered pleasantly. But there he was, suddenly finding a desire to frame his swollen nipples between splayed fingers and moan, just to see how Jackson responded. Like with Isaac, he wanted to be something other than what he usually was, or what people expected when they saw him.

Jackson's dick twitched hard enough that Stiles felt it. _That_ was how he responded.

Jackson started pulsing his hips. He wasn’t even thrusting. It was just a slow flex and release of muscle that made his cock slide in and out of Stiles the barest inch.. Stiles reached for Jackson when he collapsed down again, lifting his head to meet him in a— well, not a kiss. Jackson just started sucking on his mouth - lips, tongue, nipping-nibbles in the corners. Stiles was left trying to keep up before Jackson ducked his head, aiming for Stiles’ nipples again. And Stiles jerked, tried to gently shove him away at the lightest brush of plumped lips.

But then Jackson was back at his mouth, distracting, the tease of his hips never faltering. Things went like that – for minutes – until Jackson pushed up, hair a complete sex-mussed mess and eyes glittering menacingly. He glanced between Stiles’ lips and nipples, reaching over with one hand to smooth Stiles’ probably-equally-ruined hair back. Their gazes met and the pit of Stiles’ stomach fell out.

Jackson dropped to his nipple and latched on again.

Stiles surged with a screech, feet finding the edge of the mattress but Jackson had a hand pressing down on his shoulder and he snapped his hips forward, pinning Stiles down, speared on his cock. There were loud whines and pleas that Stiles realized were coming from him. He couldn’t stop. He couldn't stop, with his heel kicking down in jerks at the back of Jackson's hips, thighs, his butt— Couldn't stop shoving at his face, cheek, forehead. Couldn't stop scratching at his shoulders, back, neck, arms. Couldn't stop his palms from slapping at sensitive ears.

He was crying. He could feel the water— tears sliding toward his temples, smearing on his cheeks and in his already saltysweatydamp hair as he tossed his head around. He sobbed harshly.

By the time Jackson lifted away again, Stiles’ chest was heaving and his throat was scratchy-itchy and his whole body burned – confused, hurting and hard and scared and wanting more still.

“Please, no more, please, please,” Stiles whimpered, just a little out of his mind. He flinched when Jackson quickly dipped down toward his chest. His arms flew across his chest to protect himself, whining at his own touch as he tried to turn and curl up, thwarted once more by Jackson being on top of him, in him. Holding him in place and chuckling darkly.

“Is that what you need, Red? Wanna roll over on your belly and let me play with your hungry boy-cunt instead?” Jackson taunted and Stiles shook his head.

“C’mon, slut. Roll over and show me your whore-hole. Wanted to put my mouth on it earlier but now that you're leaking Isaac’s spunk like a cum-dump I think I'll just beat your ass.”

“No!” Stiles gasped, shaking his head more emphatically. He shook all over, didn't know what he wanted but it wasn't this. ...maybe. He didn't _know_.

“No?” Jackson repeated, darkly, dangerously.

“No,” Stiles whispered and pulled his knees in, pushing at Jackson with his shins. Jackson let himself be moved back, hot cock falling from Stiles’ ass.

“I think ‘yes,' Red,” Jackson murmured. “Because that's not how this little arrangement works.”

So fast Stiles didn't realize what was going on until he was already there, Stiles found his knees under him on the mattress – shins pressing into the edge. His wrists were seized in an iron grip, arms stretched out underneath him and between his legs so his face was shoved into the comforter.

A hot, wet, filthy drag over his open hole had him yelping. He wiggled his hips up, away, shoving his shoulders at a painful angle into the mattress. A stinging slap echoed around the room, throbbing in his right ass-cheek.

“Don't move,” Jackson whispered threateningly. Stiles never was one for listening so he jerked harder, wriggled around and rolled his wrists, needing to get free. Four heavy slaps rained down on his presented ass in sharp succession. Stiles cried out and choked, slumping into the bed as soon as they quit.

A tongue shoved inside him, pulled out and swirled, and Stiles stayed still, frozen between the pleasure of the act and the fear clutching his chest and peripherally aware of fingers picking at the laces on his wrist sleeves. Removing them maybe.

Or not.

One of them was getting tighter! All the way down his forearm to his wrist, almost uncomfortably tight. His arm was jerked farther down and clenched tight in a grip with the soft bend of his knee—

No! Oh God No!

He tugged hard, so hard he felt his joints shift all down his arm. But it put too much pressure on his neck, made it hard to breathe. Or maybe that was his sobbing.

His wrist was tied to his leg, just below the knee.

He sobbed and tugged on it just to feel how much give there was. Needed to get free. The answer was none. There was no give. And Jackson already had his other arm held fast with his free leg as Stiles struggled vainly against the unmoving manacle of his grip.

Jackson's palm came down with an almighty slap dead center of his ass and Stiles choked out a grunt.

“That's what you get, slut,” Jackson said. And, “you know what? Isaac doesn't taste too bad dripping from your ass. I might just eat you out anyway.”

“No,” Stiles whimpered into the damp bedspread under his face, not even sure why he was protesting, just knowing he felt he needed to.

“You don’t want me to lick you out?” Jackson asked incredulously, a whuff of a laugh fanned out over the back of Stiles’ thigh. “With the way you were squealing and moaning for our Alpha, his tongue buried in your fuckhole earlier, I would have thought you loved it. What, slut? Is my tongue not good enough? What makes _your_ fuckhole so special? Well, guess what, whore. There’s nothing special about it. It’s just another filthy, used cunt attached to a dirty, needy slut begging to have his pussy filled. If I want to, I’ll lick you out. And you’ll beg me for it.”

And with that, he dove in. The first drag was sloppy-wet and caught the bottom of his hanging balls before following the line of his taint over his asshole and to his tailbone where Jackson spit. Stiles flinched, feeling the wet splat like a slap. It dripped too-slowly down to his hole as Jackson watched with his thumbs digging into the meat of Stiles’ cheeks. The tickle of the slow-rolling glob of saliva made his hole twitch, almost wink.

“Beg me,” Jackson commanded in an almost reverent whisper. If it weren’t for the edge to it, like a knife-blade-threat.

Stiles shivered and thought about not doing that. But pinpricks against the skin of his ass had him reconsidering. Not to mention, logically, if he played along a little bit, Jackson would be done quicker and Stiles could move on. Isaac had been so sweet and tender. Stiles didn’t know how Boyd would be, but Scott had been his best friend growing up. He’d be nice to Stiles.

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking with his unwillingness to force the word out.

“Do better than that,” Jackson commanded, squeezing hard enough to hurt. “Say, ‘Please, lick my pussy.’”

Stiles gulped down a breath and closed his eyes.

“Please, lick my pussy.”

“Better,” Jackson praised haughtily and the pressure of claws disappeared from Stiles’ skin. His grip on the globes of Stiles’ ass became an almost soothing massage. “But not quite there, I think.”

Stiles couldn’t help the protesting whine he instantly tried to smother.

“Say, ‘Please, Jackson, sir, would you lick my filthy pussy out until I’m all clean again?’ And make me believe it.”

Even though he was completely exposed, even though he had to puff out several short breaths, even though every fiber of him was screaming that he didn’t have to, that none of this was worth being treated like shit again...

Stiles opened his mouth.

“P-please,” he said, pleadingly, unable to help the stutter. It could only help, though, right? “Jackson... Sir, would you lick my— my filthy pussy out until I’m all clean again?”

Jackson was quiet and if he hadn’t been touching Stiles still on one asscheek, he would have thought Jackson had abandoned him on the bed.

“No,” he said, “I don’t think I will.”

And he punctuated that with a shove of his entire cock into Stiles, punching a strangled yell out of him. Apparently his other hand had been lining up. Stiles could feel Jackson’s smug satisfaction rolling over his back before he gripped Stiles’ hips and gave him three sharp thrusts, so hard Jackson’s hips smacked into Stiles’ ass with bruising force. Stiles grunted low in his throat with each one.

His back arched up and he pitched forward, smothering himself in the comforter before Jackson was yanking him back again. A burning palm shoved down just above his tailbone. His legs slipped, spreading wider and dragging his arms with them, dropping him lower to the bed, opening him up for deeper thrusts. He didn’t want Jackson _deeper_. He already couldn’t handle how far inside him Jackson was.

The hand slid up and gentle pressure was applied to his spine. Stiles fought against it, tried to push up. But he had no leverage anywhere. Not with the pressure on his neck and shoulders. Not with his legs so far apart. The pressure increased in increments until with a whoosh of air, Stiles collapsed into the bow, dropping his belly low enough his crazily still-hard cock curved with his abdomen, the sensitive head smacking against his treasure trail.

Jackson pressed forward, pressed in, pressed deep, until Stiles felt trapped beneath him.

Stiles couldn’t hold in the sob that had built inside him, and that’s when Jackson’s fun _really_ began.

With one hand still pressing in the middle of his spine and the other holding his hip, Jackson set a punishing pace. Stiles was stuck panting and whimpering wetly into the bedspread as Jackson jackhammered into him. His balls slapped Stiles’ wildly as his short, jabbing thrusts made the whole bed vibrate. Stiles couldn’t stop the high keening noise that escaped him, stuttering around the way his body shook. He smothered himself in the mattress until his eyes throbbed and color exploded behind his eyelids from the pressure on his face and the lack of oxygen in his lungs.

Then Jackson had a fist in his hair, the one not on his hip, clenched tight enough to ache, and was pulling his head up, arching him back into a painful bow backwards.

“Lemme fucking hear you, you little brat!” He spat and punctuated it with a harder thrust. Stiles grit his teeth around the groan that bubbled up.

He promptly sobbed because despite the way his spine ached and his throat felt too tight to breathe, the tug at his scalp had his dick drooling onto the comforter and smearing slick around his belly when Jackson thrust hard enough to make the head slap it. It was unfair. It was unfair! Despite the humiliation and the pain and the rough treatment, Stiles’ whole body was begging for more.

Each short jab that tugged on his rim had heat pooling in his groin and leaking out his dick. Each pull of his hair had sparks skipping down his vertebrae. Each filthy word had his gut churning in humiliation, making him want to curl up but he couldn’t. He was trapped, forced to just take them. Forced to bend and present and take the filth and the pain and the ache and Jackson’s dick. While everyone watched. Watched and heard and _god-fucking-dammit smelled_ how embarrassed he was. How desperate he was to come.

How much he wanted it all.

He cried out when Jackson slowed his thrusts, having pulled out nearly all the way and slammed back in.

“That’s right, bitch, Take it all,” he rasped and dropped his hold on Stiles’ hair. Stiles collapsed limply onto the bed. Short whines were punched out of him as Jackson grabbed his garter belt in two fists and used it as leverage to snap his hips against Stiles’ ass.

And Stiles could only sob in air around each jab, toes curling and hands twisting in fists against his bindings.

One particular thrust hurt. Jackson’s knot already forming, swelling near the base of his dick— It had popped painfully past his rim going in and yanked coming out. Stiles curled up and away, trembling and crying.

“Bend your back, brat!” Jackson growled, shoving at his spine again. Stiles screamed, biting the bunched up material under his face, as Jackson yanked him back onto his knot again. “Stay that way or I’ll beat your pretty little ass so hard that by the time you’re taking our alpha in your sloppy hole you’ll be begging for him to stop.”

Stiles shuddered and sobbed into the soaking wet bedspread, terrified and needing to come and drooling.

He was trying, so so so hard, not to come. There were only so many times he could. And the longer he could hold out, the better this would all be. But when Jackson started fucking him again with his slow, harsh, spearing thrusts, spewing all kinds of words about how his knot looked, _felt,_ popping in and out of Stiles’ slipperylooseslutty hole, grinding with corkscrew twists that grazed his prostate, angled deep and choking...

Stiles squealed as he came, whole body locking up and shaking uncontrollably. His cum shot all up his chest and smeared over his belly, dribbled down onto the bed, leaving him a sobbing wreck.

And still Jackson kept going, breathlessly laughing as Stiles thrashed against the oversensitivity, unable to come down and feeling his pulse ratcheting up.

 _“Please, please, please,”_ Stiles wanted to say, scream, sob, whatever. But he was beyond words, hole trembling and spasming, body shuddering and shaking, breaths wheezing and gasp-y. His mind was greying out with the edge of panic creeping in.

He didn’t even notice when Jackson buried himself in Stiles’ tight channel, murmuring about _“sweet, tight little pussy, milking my cock, can’t get enough, huh, yeah, you little brat, gonna fill your cunt up nice and full of my cum.”_

In fact, the haze of adrenaline and fear didn’t disappear until there was a grounding hand on the nape of his neck, rubbing slow circles with a thumb. A dark, angry presence was pressing down on him, thickening the air, making it hard to breathe any faster than a stuttery, stilted inhale. Stiles whimpered and wanted nothing more than to pull himself into a tiny, tight little ball just to get away from it.

“You scared him,” a voice said, the alpha, Stiles remembered it. He turned his head just a couple inches more, straining to look out of the corner of his eye back at Jackson.

The alpha was next to Jackson, menacingly close, teeth elongated and bared in a snarl, eyes flashing red. One hand was curled, claws and all, around Jackson’s throat, putting enough pressure on it that Jackson’s complexion was creeping towards an angry puce, probably from the way clawed fingers and a single thumb dug into the pulse-points on both sides of his throat, depriving his brain of blood. Stiles eyes throbbed and he had to squeeze them shut.

“Apologize,” Derek growled lowly. Jackson gasped and choked on it.

“Sorry,” he wheezed reluctantly and Stiles felt the way he was shaken by the way his knot tugged at him. Stiles whimpered again and wiggled back to relieve it.

“Mean it,” Derek enunciated with a hiss around his fangs. “Apologize to him, and mean it.”

“I’m no—” Jackson gurgled around what he was going to say, very indignantly. Then he gasped again.

“Sorry!” He blurted out and rasped. “I’m sorry, Lil Red. I didn’t mean to actually scare you. It wasn’t my intention, and I went too far. I’m sorry for that.”

The suffocating anger receded and Stiles couldn’t do anything but nod to show that he understood. His voice was gone and his skin was too cold and his nerves too raw. The only place he felt warm was where a broad palm remained on his nape and where Jackson was still buried in him, knot a shocky nearly-painful pressure on his prostate.

“Untie him, Scott,” Derek ordered quietly and the hand on his nape lifted away. He whined in protest until the bed dipped and that hand, joined by its twin, smoothed down his leg and started picking at the lacings of his arm coverings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Stiles, if y'all haven't noticed already, with each person Stiles is adopting a certain mindspace and behavioral set on top of how he was at the beginning of the story, which is threaded throughout. There will be times when he skirts or shallowly slips into a subspace-like mentality.
> 
> I would just like to say that the posting of this on this night (for me, I don't know about you guys) was because my hiddlefriend completed 2 commissions tonight and ialsogotmyfirsttrafficviolationstoponthewayhomefromthegrocerystore!
> 
> I would also like to remind everyone that this story isn't supposed to be taken seriously at all. It's an exploration of different porny aspects of writing. It's me flexing my smut muscles (in regards to writing, you dirty birdies). Tag-updates and warnings posted at the beginning of every chapter is to make people aware of things that might squick them (or worse) so they can choose whether or not to proceed. As always, I'm just trying to help you keep you safe.
> 
> If I (or Grammarly) missed anything, please let me know! Drop a review if you liked this chapter! Reviews/comments always make me more likely to carve out time to edit and write.


	5. The Friend and The Wolf Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding and filth, much more filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major Kinks:** Forced Orgasm - Scott stimulates Stiles into an orgasm even though he protests it
> 
>  **Minor Kinks:** Lap Sex, _Riding,_ Endearments/Praise Kink - Scott calls Stiles baby a lot near the end, _Stiles Taps Into His Inner Size Queen,_ Scenting

Stiles was shaking. He couldn’t stop. Shivers wracked him intermittently as warm hands freed and maneuvered him into something more comfortable. His arms were unlaced all the way down to bare skin and then he was lifted up so they could be coaxed to wrap around broad shoulders. His upper body was draped over warm skin and he clung to it like a life raft, just trying to breathe – slower, deeper, expansively – as he came down.

Hot palms smoothed up and down his sides, pet down his back and through his hair, gently squeezing the nape of his neck every fifth pass or so. There was one that smoothed up from his tailbone into the hair on his crown, scratching lightly before softly dragging back down. There were three hands that moved and one that stayed anchored around the curve of his hip until Stiles’ shaking had stopped. Jackson’s knot deflated rapidly and his soft cock fell from Stiles’ hole, leaving him tightening up around air and thin cum dripping out, smearing between his buttocks and the inside of his upper thighs. He made a short noise of distress but he was just a loose limpet, tugged and lifted by the backs of his thighs until he was curled up comfortably around whoever had him close in his lap.

He became aware of more than just warmth and skin and comfort the more he came back. There was a soft, low voice murmuring into his ear, his hair, his neck, brushing light kisses everywhere it traveled. There were soft whispers behind him, words like “good” and “beautiful” and “thank you” catching in Stiles’ ear as the grounding touch of hot palms became the rhythmic circling of a gentle massage became a sweet drag of fingers became an exquisite, feather-light caress. One set of hands slowly slipped away. And Stiles was goo by the time he was aware enough to feel the hot-steel pressed up along the side of his stomach. And then he began doing some mental measuring... He tipped his chin down and peeked between him and—

“Whoa,” he said, awkwardly loud in the near silence of the room.

A startled laugh had him jerking back, caught by two hands on his lower back keeping him from toppling backward.

Scott’s crooked, grinning face met him, all the dark warmth Stiles remembered from their childhood glowing in his happy eyes.

“Dude,” Stiles breathed, taken just the teeniest bit aback by how hot his ~~forgotten~~ friend had become. His hair was shorter, still as wavy and curly as ever but now it was glossy and full and combed up and slightly to one side, clearly styled. It wasn’t even a little disheveled, probably because he hadn’t done anything except watch until his intervention was needed.

And he was solid. His thighs beneath Stiles were thick in a way they hadn’t been way back at the beginning of sophomore year, in a way that Stiles’ legs still weren’t. (It’s how he pulled off the lacy, thin stockings still pulled delicately up his legs, a little bunched and twisted from being fucked twice already.)

Scott’s chest had also filled out, muscled and broad, sturdy as Stiles slid his hands down from Scott’s shoulders, copping a feel and brushing his nipples. Scott’s left pec twitched and Stiles couldn’t stop the smirk that curled his lips. And then there was also—

“ _Dude!_ When did you get tattoos?” Stiles exclaimed and ran his fingertips over them all at once, tracing the two bands around his left bicep with two dragging fingers. Scott just shrugged, still smiling at him.

“I dunno,” he said and Stiles couldn’t help rolling his eyes, even though he suspected Scott was intentionally not telling him even the specifics of his age for the first one. “I started with the bands around my arms, and then it was just whenever I wanted another.”[**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16425143/chapters/39288328#chapter_5_endnotes)

Scott gave a kind of sheepish little shrug, looking up at Stiles through his lashes. “I really had to want it, though. Turns out that tattooing a werewolf is an extremely painful process. I passed out the first time. You probably would have passed out if you’d been there just watching.”

“No, I wouldn’t have!” Stiles said indignantly.

“Dude! Yes, you would have. Unless your fear of needles and blood and gore magically disappeared when you grew up.”

Reflexively, because it was always so easy to tease between them, Stiles stuck out his tongue at Scott.

....Only to find it suddenly in Scott’s mouth, being suckled before Scott was angling his head and pressing his own tongue into Stiles’ mouth.

And they were kissing. Languidly, deeply, with slow exploration. They tasted and lapped and sucked and nipped. They nuzzled and brushed and traced and pressed, over and over again and again. Until Stiles’ chest was so swollen and light it was choking him in the back of the throat. Until his lips were so softly bruised his own breath puffing past them felt like too much, and Scott’s breaths made them tingle.

It was so easy to fall into it. Stiles rolled his hips in tiny little flexes. He cupped Scott’s jaw and ran his fingers up through those thick locks and down to his nape, pulling him close. He traced an uneven jaw that was shaved so smooth that Stiles almost couldn’t tell hair grew there. He even nuzzled Scott’s cheek with his nose just a little when they pulled back just enough to breathe heavily.

“God, Stiles, you feel so good,” Scott whispered, dragging his palms up from Stiles’ hips and around to his shoulderblades, clutching him close. He inhaled deeply. “Smell so good.”

Scott let the air out in a sigh before drawing deep again.

Stiles just gripped his silky locks and tipped his head to the side for Scott. He was warm all over, and bubbly, as though his blood had turned to champagne during all of their lip-locking. Scott made it so easy to want, to relax, to desire. Stiles didn’t even notice that he was spreading his legs farther apart to get closer to him until the easy weight of their balls were pressing together and his own renewed half-chub was nudging along Scott’s _monster dick_.

Stiles startled back and looked down again, eyes wide as he remembered, oh yeah. His childhood friend had a goddamn stuntcock.

He didn’t remember Scott’s dick being that big.

Scott laughed. Stiles had said it out loud, whoops.

“Yeah, because we were jerking off together at fourteen. Over celebrity look-alike porn you had found on tumblr. And I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kinda bigger in other ways, too, dude.”

Stiles “psh”-ed him and flapped one of his hands dismissively.

“Werewolf mojo,” he said. “I get it.”

“No, Stiles.” Scott rolled his eyes. “I had a growth spurt.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Scott chuckled in the most adorable way that Stiles had missed so much his heart actually ached a little. “Besides, it looks like you had one too.”

And okay, what. What?

Seriously, what was that look in Scott’s eyes? It made them glint and burn and Stiles had never seen Scott look like that, hot and hungry – predatory – and his breath was caught, his everything was caught, as Scott dragged that pinning gaze down, contemplating what felt like every available, exposed inch of Stiles.

“I thought you were straight,” Stiles muttered, a little squirmy and a little freaked and a whole lot turned on. Oh, Little Stiles was even valiantly rising to the occasion, returning to the party.

“I just hadn’t really thought about it,” Scott said with a shrug, tipping his head back up to meet Stiles again. “Or really met any of the right guys. Also, you had a buzzcut last time I saw you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Stiles practically shrieked and Scott just smirked knowingly at him.

“You’re just extremely hot now, dude. Really hot. And pretty freakin’ gorgeous. I can easily say I never expected to pop a boner over you until I saw you—”

Scott cut himself off, eyes widening for just a second before he quirked his lips into a half-smirk, smoldering playfully at Stiles.

“Until I saw you all prettied up. Until I saw you getting fucked by other guys. Until I saw you all turned on and desperate.”

Stiles exhaled like he had been gut-punched.

“And then I wanted you like that for me.”

Against Stiles’ stomach, Scott’s cock twitched and they both looked down at it, contemplating. Stiles gulped.

“Ever taken anything that big before?” Scott asked conversationally at the same time that Stiles asked, “Is that a werewolf perk or—?”

Scott huffed with an amused little head shake. “It’s all me dude. Except for the knot. I didn’t have that until I was bit. What about you, dude.”

“Toys,” Stiles breathed and dropped a hand between their bellies to cup Scott’s considerable length to his abdomen. “I’ve shoved some pretty huge toys up inside me. But only had about two guys big enough to compare.”

“Wanna feel it?” Scott asked with a shark-like grin, something Stiles hadn’t seen since they were screwing around at screwing up as teens, before Stiles had been forced to move away and they just sort of fell out of communication. People who didn’t know them thought that Stiles’ dad being the sheriff automatically made him the more responsible of the two. People who only knew them through school or after-school programs thought that sweet Scotty-boy was the Poor Little Asthmatic Guy just pulled along for the ride.

Their parents (and every nurse and deputy in town) knew that they had a pretty even split of bad ideas between them. That Scott was instigator as much if not more than Stiles.

“Just fuck already!” Jackson hollered from the other side of the cabin.

“Hey!” Scott barked, leaning to look over Stiles’ shoulder at him. Stiles didn’t even care to turn, hiding his smile against Scott’s shoulder. “How about you shut the fuck up, Jax! Isaac told me to catch up with him when it was my turn and guess what asshat! It’s _my_ turn.”

Scott leaned back against the pillows behind him up against the headboard where he’d started this. . .(gangbang?) train-bang from. He smiled dopily up at Stiles.

“Where were we?”

Stiles chuckled and dropped his chin with a little headshake, not used to this version of his best friend (he could still call him that, right?) but not shocked by it either.

“I think we should get this—” Here he gripped Scott’s long dick and smacked the head a couple times up against his belly for emphasis. Scott gasped. “—deep in me.”

“Fuck. Yeah. Fuck, yeah, let’s do that.”

Scott grabbed Stiles’ hips and lifted him, Stiles barely helping hold himself steady with his legs and a hand on Scott’s shoulder. He did reach between them and grip Scott’s hot, hard cock, an easy handful if you didn’t think about how long it was, how when it was resting on his stomach it was somewhere in the vicinity of his belly button. The head was fat, the base was fat, it listed to the right (Stiles’ right, Scott’s left), and right below the thickest part underneath the tip, it curved upward toward Scott. Stiles fondled the head with his fingers and palmed it like the gearshift in his jeep, spreading pearls of gathered precum around. And, he couldn’t help himself, fisting the veiny length of Scott all the way down where he could feel the harder turgidity that would swell into his knot.

Scott breathed steadily if heavily through it. “Slow, though. I don’t want you hurting.”

But once Stiles had sated some of his curiosity and was too impatient to do more, Scott held his breath.

He sat statuesque as Stiles angled his length downward and tipped his hips in Scott’s unfaltering grip to meet it, dragging the spongy head to his raw, wet, probably gaping rim. And then his ass just fucking swallowed it. The head slipped in and Stiles’ hold slackened. Scott’s dick flexed. Then Stiles was past the widest part, panting half from shock and half from how fucking turned on he was. He hadn’t even meant to do that.

_Ohmyfuckinggod, my ass is so loose and wet it just fucking sucked like, a third of Scott’s dick in._

Scott wheezed through clenched teeth for a long moment.

“I thought you were gonna go slow,” he grit out. Stiles was dazedly shaking his head, started before Scott had spoken.

”I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered and Scott’s eyes flashed to his, golden yellow.

“You didn’t— Jesus— Fuck—” He thumped his head back on the pillow behind him hard enough it hit the headboard through the cotton batting. The muscles of his abdomen trembled. Stiles had been focusing on staying still, staying open, but at that, at how undone Scott seemed to be, his ass pulsed around Scott’s cockhead, hot and pressing inside him.

Stiles whimpered and let go of Scott’s dick, moving his hand so both were holding onto Scott’s shoulders.

“Okay,” Scott panted. “Okay. Let me know if you need me to stop.”

And then he started lowering Stiles down his dick, a slow, insistent push that felt like it was shoving all of Stiles’ insides out of the way to make room for it. Stiles whined, and whimpered just a bit. He scraped his nails down Scott’s arms and clawed at his forearms, gripped them so tight his own fingers hurt, but he didn’t tell Scott to stop. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t even that uncomfortable. But it _was_ overwhelming.

Scott was _so deep_ in him.

His balls pressed up against the rounded dip of Stiles’ asscrack, his legs spread wide around Scott, seated in his lap...

All the way down on his cock...

Speared open...

Stiles stuttered through a hitching gasp.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking _deep_.”

Scott’s hips flexed. Stiles smoothed a hand down his own belly, palm dragging over his treasure trail.

“Oh fuck! Ohf _uck_ — I _felt_ that!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott gasped, wrapping his arms tightly around Stiles, low on his back. He started rocking – no thrusting, no pushing or pulling. But he was moving, a small inch of him dipping in and out of Stiles’ body at the base. Stiles gasped too, tangling his fingers in Scott’s wrecked curls and just holding on. Scott pressed his feet together, lifted his bent knees, and tipped Stiles back into the space created, held him braced like that and surrounded. Stiles felt Scott’s next little press forward deep in his gut, somewhere near his stomach.

Their rocking built into a steady beat as Scott held Stiles at the angle he wanted – to press close, push deep – and worked more of his cock out and then back into Stiles. Stiles who had lost the ability to do anything more than hold onto Scott and mewl as he was set into a push-pull rhythm by Scott. Every thrust back in felt like it went deeper than the last, pushing everything in Stiles up and out. He was choking. Drowning in warmth and pleasure and light. His chest felt like it was expanding with every short breath he gasped in. His rawed rim burned brightly like a stoked ember, fueling every feeling. And Scott was so far in him that the back of his throat clenched in time with his ass, strangling every noise, every inhale or exhale.

He hadn’t understood what feeling someone in the back of your throat meant until that moment.

Stiles couldn’t breathe from it.

His vision swam and his fingers went pins-and-needles numb. He whined. His dick wasn’t even fully hard but the head was tingling and the base was tight, like he might come at any second. Every insistent rub over his prostate making it worse.

Scott’s mouth found his throat and Stiles dropped his head back for him, grasping at flexing shoulders. He expected a sucking kiss, maybe even wanted a bruising bite.

What he got were deep, almost tantric breaths. Inhales that lasted several thrusts. Exhales that whooshed out and fanned over Stiles’ vulnerable jugular like the angry snorts of a great beast.

Stiles had no idea how long they were like that, with him making all manner of cat-in-heat racket, until he felt scarily dizzy and short of breath and his toes joined his fingers in tingling tightness.

Scott fell backward.

Stiles went with him, still clinging and even more dizzy as blood suddenly rushed down his arms and back into his brain. Or maybe it was out. Or maybe all his blood was in his dick.

Scott held him braced with strong fingers curled around his ribs. Ribs that strained under the force of Stiles sharp inhales.

“Shh, shh,” Scott soothed him. He nuzzled his lips against Stiles’, top then bottom then down over his chin. “Deep breaths, ease back.”

Stiles became aware of how irregular his breathing was, how hard he was shaking, the pins and needles on his skin... How close he was to cumming and his dick was only kinda-hard.

How the fuck??

He was keening softly, a needy kittenish noise that would have made him burn in a humiliated flush if he had more than fifteen percent of his brain working. Scott’s dick was goddamned magical.

“Here,” Scott said as he curled his fingers around the backs of Stiles’ hands. He guided them up to the top of the headboard and wrapped Stiles’ noodly fingers around it. Then he wrapped one of his arms securely around Stiles’ waist and lifted up onto his feet and one elbow, shifting down the bed so only his head and shoulders were propped on a pillow. Then he helped Stiles adjust his legs into an easy kneel around his hips.

“Your turn,” he huffed and gazed heatedly up into Stiles’ eyes.

Stiles wiggled, feeling out his space, and then used his handhold on the headboard to pull himself halfway up Scott’s incredible cock. He slammed back down, making the both of them groan from deep in their chests.

“Yeah, fuck, just like that,” Scott encouraged. Stiles nodded, licked his lips and, _“Yeah.”_

And then he couldn’t stop himself, on like Donkey Kong. He used his hold on the headboard to yank his whole body up Scott’s before using that same hold to shove back onto the lengthy cock that was swelled up and erect for his use.

Scott wanted him to ride, so he was going to ride hard. His thighs flexed, his toes pressed into the bedspread. He smacked into the cradle of Scott’s pelvis so hard that he felt the impact of Scott’s hipbones on his ass rattle up his spine. Felt the deep, painful punch of Scott’s cock in his guts. He wasn’t lying or talking Scott up. He’d never fucked anyone or anything as long as his friend was.

Some part of his animal hindbrain preened at it, the sharp tingle of satisfaction swelling in his chest, fueling the fire in his groin. He was taking that huge cock deep. It was _all_ up inside him. Every single inch was crammed in. Stiles had done _that._

Scott wheezed and gripped his ass for dear life, adding another delicious ache to Stiles’ body, spreading his cheeks so far the skin over his tailbone stung.

Stiles was not just panting, he was gasping. Every thrust back punched the air out of him in a steady beat so every yank off the endless blunted heat within him had him sucking down air like he would die any other way. He wasn’t going particularly fast, but he was going hard, and holding the best angle to take Scott deep and he throbbed with it. It was a slicked, smooth glide, shoving the two loads of cum that hadn’t yet leaked out deep, deeper into his guts, churned it around. It was filthy, raw, rough, and Stiles was lightheaded. When Scott came, his come would be so deep, it might not even leak out of his loosened hole.

Which was enough to make Stiles breathless.

Until Scott slid his hands up over the swell of Stiles’ ass and cupped the crests of his hips, traced the dip between them, pressed hard into the muscle... Dragged his thumbs up closer towards Stiles’ belly-button.

And Stiles could feel the _bump,bump,bump_ pressure of Scott’s dick in his guts.

His hand flew down and snatched one of Scott’s, gripping it as his whole body shuddered in shock.

“Wh-ha-at?" He stuttered through a panting-exhale. Scott grunted at the sudden cessation of movement but easily changed gears, flipping his hand around to grab Stiles’. He pressed Stiles’ hand to his own belly, slightly below and to the right of his navel. Then he pressed and rocked up with his hips and Stiles gasped as the head of Scott’s dick bumped into the center of his palm.

“Oh fuck,” he said on a breath, incredulous. He’d never felt that before. Never been with anyone who had done what Scott did, and never thought to do it with one of his toys.

Scott nudged him up higher on his knees and held his hand tight down on his belly, thrusting up in short little bursts. _Smack, smack, smack,_ of his pelvis hitting Stiles’ ass — _bump, bump, bump,_ of his dick into Stiles’ palm.

Stiles moaned high up in his nose, lips parted on labored breaths.

“Scott _Scott_ **_Scott_** ,” he chanted on a single gasp, scrambling to grab Scott’s hand still pressing down on his.

His guts ached and his dick throbbed in time with his hammering pulse, chubbed up and sticky from his previous orgasm, sweat, and the smear of pre now slowly oozing from the slit.

Stiles intertwined his fingers with Scott’s on top of his trapped hand.

“F _uck! Stiles!”_ Scott groaned, fingers tightening around Stiles’ own and around the crest of his hip. He bucked up in a way that had Stiles rolling his hips like he was riding a wave. That became their new rhythm and soon Scott’s hand was abandoning Stiles’ belly, grabbing Stiles’ free hand, fingers laced palm-to-palm and bracing him as they rolled into each other, Scott’s elbows bent, biceps bulging as he supported Stiles. The air between them became balmy with their sweat and body heat. It reeked of sex and cum and musky man-sweat to Stiles’ nose. Who knew what Scott was smelling...

Beads of sweat rolled down Stiles’ back, slowly, ticklingly starting at his shoulders before collecting more moisture, catching speed, zig-zagging into the dip of his spine and sliding down, right over his tailbone. He shivered so hard his legs half collapsed. Scott, who hadn’t yet realized – what with his eyes squeezed shut for the last minute – kept going, making Stiles feel like he was in a rodeo riding a bucking horse.

When Scott did realize, he abruptly crumpled.

It didn’t last. Dark brown eyes, blown open and made darker, flashed bright yellow at him, locking on his.

The world spun as Scott yanked their hands up above his head and tipped his hips sideways. His other hand fluttered over Stiles, hiking his leg up around Scott’s ribs even as his hips twitched and pressed in, unable to stop moving, still fucking into Stiles. Stiles could only try to breathe, try to hold on, keep up. His arm ended up squished between their chests, his fingers around the back of Scott’s neck, nails digging into the short hairs there.

Soft begging noises kept floating out from high in his throat, needful little things that Stiles pressed into Scott’s jaw.

Another jostling hike of his leg and Scott had his arm propped under Stiles’ knee and fingers digging into small of his back, holding him tight, holding him open, holding him close.

There wasn’t enough room for pumping thrusts so Scott was just kinda grinding and twisting shallowly in and out of his ass, frothing up the cum still there and making the most obscenely slicked noises Stiles has ever heard outside of watching porn. His ass sounded like it was _sucking_ Scott’s cock, slurping it in and letting it slide wetly out before greedily drinking it down again.

It was the only thing Stiles could hear and he felt the insidious creep of embarrassment because he felt how open his ass was, how exposed to the room he was with the way he had ended up curled around Scott, knew everyone in it with them was watching his ass take the monster cock that was stirring up his insides and making him mewl. And then Scott started to talk.

“Jesus— Fuck— St— Smell so good, Red, so fucking good. Like nostalgia and you and so fucking sweet. So sweet and sexy and wanna get my mouth on you, taste every inch of you. Bet you taste as good as you smell.”

His mouth found Stiles’, so hot and desperate, sucking on his plumped and bruised lips, fucking his tongue into Stiles’ panting, keening mouth in a mirror of what his dick was doing to Stiles’ ass. Stiles was too far gone, too hot and mindless to respond, painfully hot sparks and roiling, scorching heat swelling within him stealing all of his focus.

“Could fuck you like this all day,” Scott growled, nipping at Stiles’ jaw hard enough to bruise. “If I had you to myself, would fuck you until you couldn’t feel your toes.”

“Can’t now,” Stiles sobbed. Scott ignored him, babbling into the damp skin of his throat.

“Would keep you on my knot so you’d smell just like this forever. So good. Love how you smell. Missed you! Missed you so much. Gonna fuck you so full so you won’t forget about me again. Make you come so hard you can’t move."

“Nononono,” Stiles wailed, rolling his face around into the hiding space of Scott’s neck. “Can’t come. Can’t, can’t, can’t, can’t—”

“You will,” Scott snarled, scratching with human claws over Stiles’ hip, dropping his leg, shoving his hand between them. Stiles shoved at him with both his free hand and his released knee, reaching for Scott’s hand to keep him away from his dick.

“Gonna make you come, Red, baby. Gonna make you. Feel so good. Trust me, baby. So good for me, so good, smell so good, baby, just let me—”

And then Scott was rubbing two fingers around his soft, slick rim, massaging, pressing in the limited space, wrist at an angle that had to hurt and was pushing up against the bottom of Stiles’ balls. Scott tipped his hips back as far as he could in the limited space their position afforded. Then he sunk his fingers into Stiles’ ass, the two middle ones, to the sides of his cock. But his thrust in shoved them together, stacked them on top of his dick, and he curled them.

Stiles couldn’t breathe.

He also couldn’t understand how Scott had his hand like that, in him, between them, thrusting his dick along the back of his knuckles, swirling around Stiles’ guts while making his legs shake and twitch uncontrollably.

And Scott was relentless, even as Stiles squealed and sobbed in air, jerking and twisting and clawing. He didn’t realize that his hearing had faded out until Scott’s mouth was brushing his ear, all burning breath and graveled whispers.

“—that’s it. So close I can smell it. You’re burning with it, Red, burning up, so red and hot and fuck you look delicious. Smell so fucking great.”

A sucking kiss under his ear.

“C’mon baby. Give it to me. Let me have it. Gonna knot you up and pump you full. Just come for me. Come for me, Red. That’s it—”

He was moving frantically now, hips jackrabbiting into Stiles’ ass, fingers stutter-stopping in their massage in him. Words cutting off and trailing.

And Stiles still couldn’t breathe. His inhales were cutting, his exhales barely existent puffs, an erratic sawing beyond just sounds. His head was floaty, fuzzy. His skin was the same. Where were his toes? Numb and curled, he couldn’t actually feel them. His heart beat too hard – not too fast – and he feared his ribcage would shatter.

His brain whited out.

He felt himself shaking, apart. Pleasure rolled over him, crested, and rolled again. A riptide orgasm. Coming and coming and—

Scott was growling low in his ear, snarling, squeezing him so tight at the waist. Stiles became distantly aware of the shoveshoveshove happening at his lower body. Oh god...

Scott’s knot had started to form outside of him, swelled too big too fast.

Stiles whimpered and did the only thing he could think of.

He bore down. It hurt. Around the unforgiving rod of Scott’s hard cock. The knob of his knot burned and stung, stretching his rim tight.

There was a purely _awkwardly wet_ sound, like someone blowing bubbles in their spit, and on the next snarling shove, Scott was in.

Stiles sobbed as the ache in his ass dropped away, the rim of his hole snugging up around the base of Scott’s cock as his knot finished swelling. It pulsed and twitched, Scott’s cock spilling deep in Stiles’ guts, and Stiles felt it. Felt it moving with every stream of cum that it released even though he couldn’t feel the actual cum as anything more than internal pressure, gently swelling his belly.

After several gasping minutes, Scott rolled onto his back again, dragging Stiles with, bending his knees up and opening both their legs wide. Stiles sighed the heaviest sigh he could muster, becoming a dead, boneless frog on top of his friend. He was barely aware of the fact that his dick was still chubbed up and sensitive between them, their skin sticky and wet where they were plastered together. He was too tired to notice how his ass kept rhythmically squeezing and milking Scott’s cock, or how Scott was lazily petting him, waiting and basking in their closeness.

The others moved around them, cautiously closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****** Anyway, Tyler Posey looks really hot with tatts and I'm also a slut for them so... I'm not too fond of some of the ones he has *coughthe"gypsywoman"cough* so maybe they're more wolfy or pack or family or friend themed. Like he has a side portrait of his mom on his shoulder with the Rod of Asclepius behind her instead. And a wolf on his ribs instead of theater masks. Yeah. I almost had him have a nose-ring just because Posey looked so fine with his. Alas
> 
> I love needy bottoms. I just *clenches fist* really love 'em! And there's something about big dicks. Might get around to a Big Dick Stiles, might not. I don't know. I just know I love the idea of him with one. (Especially if ya pair it with a subby lil bottom!Derek.) (Shameless Story Rec, [Sheepnamedpig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheepnamedpig/pseuds/Sheepnamedpig) has one of the best Big Dick Stiles fics, called [I Wanna Take A Ride](https://archiveofourown.org/works/819023).)
> 
> So I didn't have computer access for a hot minute because my sister, who loaned me her computer indefinitely, just decided she needed it back but didn't actually say anything at all to me about it. If my mom hadn't told me her baby's daddy's mom was paying for internet at their new place I would have assumed my little sister stole it for some reason (because when it comes to theft it's always a sister). (My older brother doesn't want anything I have and my younger brother always tells me if he's taking something to use or borrow or whatever.)
> 
> Tell me about any errors and what you love and what you hate and maybe what affected you the most and a childhood memory and your favorite color and maybe the four digit passcode to a wealthy person's bank account!


	6. The Watchful Wolf Waits No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is Overwhelmed and he hates it and he loves it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major Kinks:** Overstimulation; _Crying During Sex due to the previously stated;_ Fisting; _Subspace, Stiles drifts through stages of cognizance (he ends up kinda brainless);_ In A Sense, safeword reminder; _Fucktoy Stiles;_ Position Changes (3-5 depending on what you consider a position and the changing of it);
> 
>  **Minor Kinks:** rimming with a side of Felching; _encouragement (or maybe it's peer pressure/mild coercion?);_ more dirty talk; _minor hitting;_ Wall Sex; _Free Standing Sex;_ Intercrural Sex; _a Little Bit of Aftercare;_

There were hands on his ass, gently massaging. Hands rubbing lazily up and down his back and up over his shoulders to his arms sprawled over Scott’s shoulders. (Those hands were probably Scott’s. The others, Stiles had no idea about.) Hands on the backs of his knees pushed (pulled?) his legs up the bed, putting him in some kind of frog pose on top of Scott’s chest.

His asscheeks were pushed up and apart, cool air puffing over him where Scott was knotted up inside. Those hands remained on his ass and there were still hands smoothing up and down his back, but there were also fingers abruptly ghosting around the stretched rim of his hole, almost tickling. Then they were pressing, rubbing, up and down. Stiles clenched and hissed through his teeth, making Scott groan as his dick pulsed and kicked out more cum deep in his belly.

But as the fingers kept rubbing Stiles couldn’t help but relax, body melting down into Scott’s as the sore muscle and aching skin was soothed, stimulated gently. Combined with the hands everywhere else, Stiles was unable to resist softly drifting, warm and glowy and achy in the best way.

“Jeezus, Scotty’s knot is so thick I can feel it pressing out,” Jackson’s voice rasped from somewhere around Stiles’ lower back. A finger dipped in and swirled halfway around Scott’s cock. Stiles jumped, instinctively trying to launch away from the added stimulation, wary of what that finger might do. But a hot, broad palm pressed down on the curve of his spine, a thumb hooking down around his tailbone.

“Shh, Shh, Lil’ Red,” Scott hushed in his ear, a shivery stage-whisper of heat that dribbled down Stiles’ spine. His arms crossed over Stiles’ back and he clutched Stiles’ shoulders to hold him tight.

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Scott went on with a nuzzle to Stiles’ temple.

“Are you seeing this?” Jackson interrupted loudly, his finger still dipped into Stiles’ ass, moving around, gently tugging and, from Scott’s hissing, petting around the knot.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s hot,” Isaac said reverently and it had to be him holding Stiles’ ass open. “So fucking hot.”

“God, he smells filthy,” Jackson muttered.

“Smells like us,” Isaac said back.

And then a tongue joined Jackson’s finger and Stiles would have yelped. But he was tired, so instead his would-be yelp came out more of a squeak. Completely involuntarily.

The tongue lapped at his rim and Jackson’s finger, dipped in around it and curled and tugged at Stiles’ rim. The mouth that followed suckled and drooled around the little bit of Scott it could reach and smeared saliva into the mess that already coated Stiles’ cheeks and thighs. Stiles wheezed. Another set of hands landed on him, gripping the backs of knees, pinning him down in place.

“Tastes filthy,” a fourth voice rumbled and it had to be Boyd (who Stiles had momentarily forgotten about since he was so quiet and still, watching from the side).

“I can’t fucking wait to see him stretched out around you,” Jackson husked, pulling away his finger. There was a loud sucking and then a pop. Stiles flushed when he realized what Jackson had just done.

“Can’t wait for his pretty little ass to be wrecked by your coke-can dick.” Jackson kept going, and Stiles felt a nuzzle in his hair, hot breath on his exposed, vulnerable ear. “He’s so big. His dick’s gonna rip you apart. Wanna see you cry on it.”

Stiles shuddered at his words, his tone. The way he was speaking was excited and almost fond, and so so excited. He nuzzled around in Stiles’ sweaty hair some more, snuffling and dipping briefly behind his ear to inhale.

“Scotty was right. You smell so good, fresh-fucked and wet. So good. So fucking good. Wish I could fuck you again, slide right into that sloppy, loose hole after Boyd. Fuck you like a little toy, all limp and weak and mine.”

Three growls exploded into the air around Stiles and a deeper, angrier snarl rumbled from the corner where the alpha lurked. Stiles felt all staticky and shivery in his gut, felt his ass weakly flutter around Scott – who felt diminished, no longer an aching press Stiles had become accustomed to. One scary-pretty werewolf, out-of-control-sadistic, saying things that normally made Stiles rev-up in challenge and swell with pleasure... And then four other ‘wolves who could probably smell the tinge of real fear his hindbrain felt, immediately on the defensive for him... Stiles couldn’t make sense of what he was feeling. Tight in his gut and turned-on, like he hadn’t just been fucked boneless. Shivery and afraid, aching with desperately needy want. Confusion. Repulsion and humiliation, and riding on their coattails, desire.

“Is your knot almost down, Scotty?” Boyd asked in a low murmur.

“Yeah, fuck, almost there,” Scott ground out. “Ease up there, Red.”

Stiles lifted his head, forgetting just how much effort it took to do even that, and looked at Scott’s face. It was scrunched up, in a weird grimace of pain?

A tongue lapped over his stuffed hole again and he yelped, slamming his forehead into Scott’s collar as his ass milked around Scott’s dick. Scott hissed and oh—

Stiles was clamped down around Scott, squeezing without realizing.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to let go with the exhale.

Scott sighed in relief and rubbed his parted lips around Stiles’ temple in an approximation of a kiss.

It was only a moment later that Scott’s shrinking knot popped free (audibly) and his dick just slipped and fell out of Stiles’ ass, followed only by the barest dribble of thin, viscous cum.

A tongue, broad and warm and wet, lapped over his puffy, sore rim several times, straying down to lick over his taint in a sloppy sense of cleaning him. There were loud, sucking kisses up his crack and on each of his cheeks before that burning hot mouth moved down and _bit_ at the swollen, gaping furl of his rim. Stiles choked, tried to jerk away. Couldn’t. Too many hands were holding him in place.

And then that mouth began to _suck_. That thick tongue rammed into him and curled on the drag out, did this all several times and was slipping around easily because Stiles was—

“—So fucking loose,” Jackson whispered, probably watching. “Think he’ll be able to take you?”

Boyd hummed into Stiles’ ass.

A finger replaced the tongue. Followed immediately by a second and with a twist, a third.

“Oh, jesus,” Isaac uttered, an oath. Boyd’s pinky was teasing Stiles’ twitchy rim.

There was another corkscrew twist of his hand that created the most obscene squelching noises Stiles had ever heard outside of porn and his pinky was in, his knuckles stretching Stiles’ rim more than anything else had yet.

There was a loud keening noise echoing in the sudden hush of the room. It was Stiles. He was keening and flexing his legs, trying to shove up and away from the hand half-buried in his slicked up ass. Boyd had big hands. Huge. Maybe the biggest in the room. Who knew? It _definitely_ wasn’t going to fit. Nuh-uh. Nope. Not at all.

Stiles was fucked.

...Well—

Stiles was thrashing around. Or he was trying to. But Boyd had his leg pinned down (the free one kicked around once and then he’s pretty sure Jackson was on it) and Isaac had ahold of his hips and ass, keeping him in place for Boyd. And then there was Scott was hugging him in place. His arms had Stiles’ chest pressed immovably to his own, his hands gripping Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles could twist his fingers up in the bedding and thrash his arms around in about twenty degrees of space.

None of it was helping him with the insistent pressure of Boyd’s knuckles. He jabbed his hand forward. Stiles screamed. Boyd’s hand was inside him. All the way down to the webbing of his thumb. Stiles sobbed. Scott hushed him.

“Too much, _toomuch, please,_ ” Stiles gasped out. It burned. It hurt. “I can’t, please! Can’t!”

Stiles pulled fruitlessly at the bedding as Boyd painfully slowly rotated his hand.

“Think he could take your thumb too?” Jackson whispered in a weird, hushed awe. Stiles tried to shake his head.

No he _could-fucking-not!_

Boyd’s thumb rubbed at his tight, slicked rim in response. Stiles yanked on the bedding, a high, desperate noise in his throat. He shoved his face into Scott’s throat and sobbed, starting to shake all over. Somehow his fingers found Scott’s hair and twisted up in that. Scott hissed in his ear.

“Guys, is this really necessary?” Scott questioned, concerned. Stiles loved him so much. He was his favorite. The only one on his side. Stiles would run away with him and live happily ever after.

“Boyd’s dick is huge, okay. Have you not been paying attention?!” Jackson sneered. “Think how much bigger his knot’ll be.”

“...He’s not actually that bad off,” Boyd finally said after a contemplative pause. His fingers wiggled in Stiles and Stiles felt a full-body flinch tighten up _all_ of his muscles. “He’s pretty loose. Just overstimulated.”

There was another quiet pause.

“He’s wet enough for it and honestly, Boyd’s fingers have just been slipping in. He’s _all_ stretched out,” Isaac said, to Scott, if the way his voice carried was any indication. “I think he’s just overwhelmed.”

“Hey, Red,” Scott said softly to him then. “Do you need to stop? Do you need our alpha?”

Which confused Stiles. Why would having the alpha over here help? Wasn’t he going to fuck Stiles too? How would that help the situation?

And then it came back to him. If he couldn’t take it anymore, if he needed out, all he had to say was “Alpha, help” and he’d be taken care of. Stiles wasn’t part of the pack, but the alpha was responsible for his pack. If Stiles called for him to help, he was obligated to step in and pull Stiles out. The alpha would keep him safe.

But, the break in stimulation and movement as everyone waited on him provided just enough time for him to come back down from the hill he had been freaking out on. Between Scott’s restless fingers rubbing circles on his shoulders, Boyd’s utter stillness, Isaac’s gently massaging hands, Jackson’s absent-minded petting up and down his leg, and his own deep breathing Stiles felt _a lot more_ grounded. A little less caught. Less raw. Experimentally, he squeezed Boyd’s hand.

It didn’t hurt nearly as much as it had before. He was okay.

He shook his head a little.

“I’m gonna need you to say it,” Scott encouraged. Stiles huffed, took a moment to find his voice.

“I’m okay,” he rasped quietly. Geeze, was _that_ really him? “Keep... Keep going. Slow?”

“Don’t worry, Lil’ Red,” Boyd reassured. “We got ya. I’ll go as slow as you need.”

Boyd wasn’t kidding. He eased his thumb into Stiles’ ass in millimeters, twisting and pressing just the teeniest little bit before pausing. By the time it was in and he was rocking his hand, gentling Stiles down over his thumb knuckle, Stiles’ breaths were see-sawing out of him and it felt like he wasn’t getting any air at all. His heart was being shoved up into his throat. How was he supposed to be _breathe_ around _that_?

Another little press and—

Stiles’ head went floaty. His body disconnected. Boyd’s hand was in him. His _whole_ hand. In his ass. A vague sense of nausea hovered in his gut. He was too hot. Too shaky. He was gonna vibrate out of his own skin.

“Holy fuck,” Jackson swore. His restless hand was petting over Stiles’ lower back, rubbing up and down the back of his thigh. Stiles felt it like everything was coming to him through cotton batting. At the same time, his every nerve felt. . .unlocked.

“Your whole fucking hand...”

“What’s it feel like?” Isaac asked, awed.

“Hot, wet. Really tight. ...I can _feel_ his heartbeat.”

Stiles whimpered.

Boyd rocked his hand. There was no more air left. Stiles had ascended his own body. His every muscle was unresponsive. His skin wasn’t his own. Nothing mattered except the inescapable pressure of Boyd’s hand in him and the tremble of his heart.

And then it was pulling away, pulling out, tugging all the warmth with him, leaving Stiles empty and cold and crashing back into his cells.

“He’s good,” Boyd said and there was some rustling near the bottom of the bed.

Stiles was only – barely – peripherally aware. He was still trying to make sense of his own existence.

Make sense of the incorporeal thirst he could taste along his own spine. It felt like the tickle of ozone in his nose. Sat like the tang of musk in the back of his throat. Bruised his yearning body in a smoky grasp of arousal. He hungered down in the marrow of his bones for something unnameable.

When Boyd had left him he’d taken all the hands with him and the only thing keeping Stiles from scattering into molecular wisps was the warm body he was draped on, the thick arms squeezing around him, clutching him, twisting, rolling. . .

...pulling? away? No. He needed those arms. Those hands. The only things holding him there. Here. He’d drift off the earth without them. Fall far, far up and away.

And then there was warmth over him, blanketing him. Weighing him down. Stiles pressed into it. It slotted between his legs. He was twisted again, the warm body below him slipping away. His leg was lifted and pretzeled up against his chest. Thick, blunted, roundness pressed against him, into him. Shoving all the cold up and out. Receding and advancing, like the waves of the ocean. Each _In_ stoked the burning ember of his rim and pushed warmth into him. Each _Out_ sucked his breath from his lungs and left a yawning emptiness.

When there was no more to work in, when he was full up and the warmth had saturated him, bracketed him so completely it was spread down either side of his elongated leg and snug up around his pretzel-leg and backshoulderchest, Stiles sighed. There were puffs against his cheek, more hot warmth. Plush lipping across his face, down his jaw, a moist trail. A mouth caught his and he tipped into it, tried to move his own mouth like he knew he was supposed to. Hot and wet and slick, in his mouth, against his tongue, over his lips.

“He looks drugged,” a hazy voice drifted over.

“Is he okay?” A wavering voice cut in, so close to the cocoon of heat Stiles was wrapped up in.

“He— He— Should we stop? He’s half gone. I feel like this isn’t okay.”

Stiles tipped his head at that voice, forced the haze to clear. Fluttered his lashes and bat away the clouds.

Blonde curls, cherubic face, godly jaw. Isaac.

“‘m’ahkay,” Stiles slurred. Isaac’s face shouldn’t be wide and scared like that.

Stiles began rocking. Or, no. He looked above him. Boyd. In him. Oh, yeeeaaahhh. Stiles groaned thinly.

Boyd who was—

“...ssooo guuuh..d...”

—to him. Who was still and strong and soft and went—

“...ssohhh ssloooww ‘n’...”

— gentle with him.

“Yeah, Red, not gonna rough you up.”

His voice was like thick syrup, warm and sweet and so dark. Stiles whined happily and reached up with the arm he wasn’t lying on to hook around the back of Boyd’s neck. And Boyd just kept pushing in and pulling back until the fat head of his cock was almost free, fucking Stiles’ limp, trusting body like a metronome. Or a heavy pendulum. Stiles synced his breathing to it. Deep inhales, moaning little sighs out.

It was good. The angle was good. Boyd wasn’t fucking his prostate and Stiles’ chubby-soft cock rested in the crease of his stretched out leg, his top leg – the one pushed up to his chest – was hooked around Boyd’s arm and covering his dick. Stiles wasn’t getting even a glancing brush of stimulation to it. He was able to just lie there and appreciate the way Boyd fucked him open with precision and care. The way it appeased the untouchable longing. It was almost soothing.

He drifted for a bit, his arm went limp and fell across his face. Boyd dipped down to snuffle around his armpit and chest, dropping little love-bites that Stiles was completely unresisting to.

At some point a hand pushed his arm away from his face to get at his mouth, kissing him deeply and hungrily. Stiles could only turn into it, open his mouth, press his tongue out to meet the one sliding past his lips. And whoever it was, it wasn’t Boyd. He was still busy nipping at Stiles’ chest, thankfully avoiding his swollen, bruised nipples. Such a sweetie.

“Look so hot like this, Lil’ Red,” Jackson breathed against his cheek. Oh. “Your mouth, god, those lips. Fucking perfect. Can’t wait to see them wrapped around our alpha’s cock. Can’t wait to suck the taste of him from your mouth. Those pretty little lips are gonna get so red. So red and pretty. Want that pretty little mouth to be mine. I’d fuck it right now if I could.”

Stiles groaned into Jackson’s mouth. He’d like that. Wanted that. Stiles almost couldn’t help putting things in his mouth. His fingers, pens, plastic twist-ties, gum, anything rubbery and chewy, hoodie strings... An oral fixation, most people said. It translated over into his sex-life. He loved using his mouth on his partners’ bodies, feeling them out. Almost needed to go down on them, just because he could lose himself in texture and taste.

And now that Jackson said something, it was all he could think about. He needed the thick weight of a cock on his tongue.

But Jackson was slipping away, and Stiles was caged in. He couldn’t follow. And he needed something to do with his mouth.

He turned to Boyd and strained up with parted lips, needing... A kiss. Something.

Boyd pushed in, stretched him out all the way down to the hilt, and then crushed him into the mattress. His mouth took Stiles’ in the most stomach lurching way.

First, with just a soft press of his plush lips he had Stiles’ eyes fluttering closed. Then he nuzzled Stiles’ mouth with his lips, barely moving them in a sickly sweet caress. A quick adjustment had Stiles on his back, ankle over Boyd’s shoulder, Boyd’s dick still sheathed in his ass, and his other leg still stretched out down the bed. Boyd pressed his hands into the mattress under Stiles’ arms and dropped the heft of his own mass onto Stiles, making Stiles groan into the stretch, into Boyd’s mouth as he suckled Stiles’ tongue into his scorching mouth. Why were werewolves so fucking hot?

Stiles wrapped his arms around Boyd’s shoulders, gripped the back of his head and neck, pulled their mouths closer. He whimpered as Boyd tilted his head and bit down into Stiles’ bottom lip, teeth dragging along the inside of it while his tongue swept over the trapped flesh.

That made Stiles’ gut curl with true arousal that he’d thought had been fucked out of him with his last orgasm.

When Boyd started moving again, Stiles couldn’t focus on kissing anymore, flopping back down on the bed and grasping above him for something to hold onto.

He was babbling, slurring out words but he had no idea what they were. Language comprehension was beyond him. It was like the burn of Boyd’s pornstar cock was fanning flames in his gut that chased everything up and out, melting anything left of higher brain function.

Boyd pulled out, leaving him whining and bereft and cold again. Not for long, though. Not for long, no. Stiles was dragged to the edge of the bed by his noodly legs and Boyd slotted himself back into the space that had been carved out for him. Stiles’ legs were hooked over Boyd’s arms, thighs pressed together, held together, hips hitched up by them. Boyd thrust into his tighter hole like that for several dizzying seconds. Then he slipped out and before Stiles could mumble out some kind of protest, his dick was shoving between Stiles’ slippery thighs, the fat head skimming over Stiles’ taint, his balls, the slitted tip barely poking out. Stiles dazedly reached for it with his fingers, but it was retreating before he could make contact. And then it was reappearing again as Boyd fucked his thighs. Stiles was able to brush over it, touch it and make Boyd hiss every time it bumped into his questing fingertips. It was shiny with cum (not his own) and precum and Stiles wanted to taste it, wanted it in his mouth but he couldn’t. It was too far away. And besides, his mouth was for the alpha. The alpha who was supposedly still watching this from his vantage point in the corner. Too far away for Stiles’ unfocused eyes to see. Any time he glanced that way, all he saw was the deep red glow of alpha eyes in the midst of dark, hazy shadow.

Absently, as Boyd tipped his hips and slotted his dick back into Stiles’ ass, Stiles brought his sticky fingers up to his mouth and sucked them in, just down around the first knuckle. Just enough to taste the grooves of his fingerpads. Hitching groans escaped him at the flavor and the harder pounding his ass was taking. Boyd, still steady as a statue and timed to the beat of some internal drum, was hitting him harder, Stiles’ whole body lurching up before being dragged down.

It went like that for what might have felt like a small eternity but was probably only minutes, Boyd alternating between fucking Stiles’ ass and fucking his thighs. Stiles’ curious fingers and hungry mouth making him fondle Boyd’s cockhead every time it poked between his thighs so he could lick the flavor away when Boyd tipped back into to his ass. It was so easy, butter-smooth, for Boyd to switch between the two. Sometimes he pulled back far enough when fucking Stiles’ thighs to tease his gaping rim with the ridge of his fat cockhead. Stiles squirmed and whined for it every time, desperate to have Boyd filling him back up.

Words were exchanged beyond the circle of things that Stiles’ cared about. (It was a very small circle. It only included most of the bed.) But he suspected that it was because of those words that Boyd dipped back inside him and pulled his legs apart, angling his knees away from each other. It was a little weird watching his legs be moved around without any of his own say so, but he was getting dicked so good he could barely feel them. (Or he could feel them, yes, he could feel Boyd’s hot palms on them and the static on his skin, but he cared so very little they may as well not belong to him at all.) And until he saw them above him, wrapped around Boyd, he had actually forgotten that the last bit of clothing he was still wearing were his white stockings, attached, of course, to his garterbelt.

Stiles was derailed from his gauzy thoughts about his stockings by Boyd leaning down, folding him in half and shoving his hands under Stiles’ back. He heaved, Stiles nearly flopped and definitely flailed, and with a groan he was seated on Boyd’s dick midair, clinging to the muscular shoulders his ankles were nearly up around.

“Oh!” he squeaked, staring at Boyd’s smug face. “Like? ...this?”

“Like this,” Boyd growled and his hands slid down, scaring the shit out of Stiles as they reapplied their tight grip to his ass. He did not want to fall. Did not want at all.

Feeling a little more tethered to his body, Stiles found the strength to hang onto Boyd for dear life as that same life was fucked out of him using the bulging strength of Boyd’s arms and the inescapable force of gravity.

Stiles sobbed and shoved his face into Boyd’s neck near his chin, his collar, the space between them created by his arms. This was like nothing he’d ever done before. He’d had wall-sex with one thick-chested bear of a man once. That was similar in the sense that the positioning of bodies involved was nearly the same. But this was raw power and forces of nature fucking him. Everytime Boyd dropped Stiles back down onto his dick, Stiles’ stomach swooped. And how were they going so fast? How was Boyd so fucking strong and coordinated? Stiles’ brain was goo and dripping out his ears. He’d long since lost control of his mouth, and it was starting to sound like the same was happening with his volume. Was _that_ really him? Was he actually that _loud_? New record. It was a good thing they were in the middle of nowhere. There was no way a neighbor wouldn’t have called the police about his caterwauling if there had been one less than a mile back down the wide path.

He only got louder when his back was nearly slammed into the nearest wall and Boyd planted his hands, holding Stiles’ up only by the hook of his legs over Boyd’s arms. Boyd was close. His thrusts were brutal and jackhammer fast, rubbing Stiles’ sweaty shoulderblades up and down the wall. Surely he was going to have friction burn by the time Boyd was done.

It wasn’t long until Boyd’s knot began to form. And unlike the others, he didn’t pop it in and out. Conscientious of Stiles’ raw asshole and the limited capabilities of his human body, Boyd kept it inside Stiles as soon as it started swelling. He pulled back just enough to tease at dilating Stiles’ rim just a bit further before grinding it back in. And it was so fucking big already.

Stiles shoved at Boyd’s shoulders and chest, slammed the heels of his hands down, sobbing and screeching, tossing his head back against the wall and rolling it.

“Too much, it’s too big,” he wailed, actual tears leaking from his eyes as the knot _compressed_ his prostate. “No, can’t, no, too big, please.”

His voice cracked and broke into a series of breathless sobs.

“Shh, no, you can,” Boyd murmured, still jackrabbiting his hips, pinning Stiles to the wall. “You can, Lil’ Red. Remember? I made sure. Breathe, baby, breathe.”

Stiles tossed his head in an approximation of a shake ‘no.’ He sucked in a shuddering breath, nose beginning to run, which was fucking embarrassing. But who fucking cared? There was a softball attached to the wide end of a baseball bat lodged in his ass.

“You’re doing great, baby, feel so good, Red. I’ve got you. Shh, shh, shh. Taking me so good. You’re a fucking treat, Red. So lucky to fuck you, so good to us.”

Stiles beat Boyd’s chest. He sobbed some more. He screamed between his teeth and squirmed. But the grinding press of Boyd’s knot was inescapable.

Stiles groaned long and low, defeated, as he felt the first kicks of Boyd’s dick spurting in him. They were powerful twitches that churned his guts, made his abdomen ache as he was pumped full again. Boyd was still though, only shifting to press just a little deeper as he came, for which Stiles was grateful. He wouldn’t be able to handle any more movement with Boyd’s girthyness.

At which point Boyd stumbled away from the wall and back towards the bed, where he turned and fell back onto it in a seated position. Stiles hiccuped at the jostling. He was back to being boneless and exhausted though, collapsing against the wall that was Boyd’s torso. Letting his legs drop to the bed around Boyd, Stiles didn’t fight against Boyd’s shifting as he arranged Stiles’ ungainly sprawl into something closer to an intimate embrace. Boyd’s hands skimmed up his sides, his arms, his neck, to cup his jaw and brush his thumbs over Stiles’ wet cheeks. One even swiped over his upper lip to remove the watery snot dripping there. The cleaner hand tucked his head close while the other disappeared to presumably wipe his snot on the bedspread.

Then it was just a matter of waiting for Boyd to finish coming and his knot to go down. Stiles couldn’t stop the shiver that passed through him at the thought of how much cum would gush from his ass, too loose and stretched, gaping, to hold any of it in. He felt. . .nice. Malleable and free, formless. The gnaw of aimless, sensationless thirst was quenched.

With that last thought, Stiles let his mind swirl up, up and away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there was that. Sorry it took a while to get out but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ holidays amirite
> 
> Uhhh anyway... I have no idea what to say. I never do as soon as I actually get to writing this. I think of it through editing and while I'm off doing other things but then I get here and I have got nothing. DEREK IS UP NEXT WHO IS EXCITED???? Maybe I should I have titled this "Stiles Gets His Brains Completely Fucked Out" since he's just gone by this point.
> 
> I'm literally just going through previous end notes and trying to jog my own memory. Speaking of tho, HIDDLEFRIEND, you made a big deal about it and then yoU DIDN'T EVEN MENTION IT DID YOU EVEN NOTICE THE _MY IMMORTAL_ JOKE AT THE END OF CHAPTER 3!???!!???
> 
> You know what's a little sad? I'm still trying to finish writing the last chapter. I started posting this with up-to-this-point finished, and I'm _still_ working on writing the last chapter.
> 
> Pffft Feed Me Comments


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